


Collateral Damage

by cindergal



Series: Collateral Damage [1]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Crossover, F/M, Post-Episode: s04e22 Home, Post-Episode: s07e22 Chosen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 12:49:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10719669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cindergal/pseuds/cindergal
Summary: A Post-Chosen AU in which Spike survives the battle. Crossover with Angel the Series.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Importing some old fic from LJ. This fic was originally completed 6/2006.

They were going to lose, this time. They were going to lose, and Buffy knew it.

Willow's spell had worked, had made all of the potentials into Slayers with a capital S, but it had only prolonged the inevitable. She'd done the best she could, made the hard decision. It was what they all expected of her, and it wasn't like anyone else was going to do it, not when it came right down to it. And even though they'd gone into battle with the odds stacked against them plenty of times before, this time the bad guys outnumbered the good guys to a staggering extent. The Shadow Men hadn't been kidding; the vision they'd given her had come alive -so to speak - before her eyes. It wasn't that she hadn't believed them, but every other time she'd been the underdog, she'd still managed to find that little bit extra, that special something, that pulled them through. Maybe the power they'd offered her had been that something extra. Maybe she'd made a huge mistake.

She was fighting with a big old hole in her gut now, and while she'd picked herself up off the ground and rallied the troops, it was only a matter of time before more of them started to fall. In her peripheral vision, she saw Amanda's body sprawled motionless in the dirt. Of all the potentials, she was the one Buffy had allowed herself to feel the most affection for. Now she barely had time to register her death, other than to note that they were now fighting with one less Slayer.

But when she glanced over at Spike, saw him still standing, still fighting, Buffy felt a flood of feeling rush over her, and she quickly looked away. She couldn't afford to go there right now, or she really would be done for. She hadn't told anyone, not even him, but this felt like The Big One. If they could just get through this, she had the strongest feeling that there was something new waiting on the other side of it. Something for her and Spike, even. They had begun to build something; it was still newborn and fragile, but it held promise. If they just took care of it, they could have something special. She knew she wasn't exactly the nurturing type, but she wanted to try. She really wanted to try. She'd tried to tell him that the other night, but it had come out all wrong. And now she might not get the chance to say it again.

She focused all her energy on the scythe and took off the heads of three more Turok Han, while dozens more climbed up to join the fight.

"Buffy! Buffy!"

Buffy looked back over her shoulder and saw Spike stumble backward, his hand clutching at the amulet as if in pain. She threw the scythe to another slayer and ran to him.

As Spike fell to his knees in agony, a golden light filled the amulet, and then burst forth like a thousand rays of sunshine. Turok Han began exploding all around her, and her mouth and eyes were filled with their dust. As Buffy dropped down and crawled towards Spike, the ground began to shake and the ceiling opened up, letting in the daylight.

"Let's go! Everybody move!" Faith shepherded the rest of the Slayers up and out of the basement. "Buffy, come on!"

As the last of the Turok Han dusted, the light faded from the amulet, and Spike sagged with exhaustion. Buffy had to half-drag, half-carry him from the Hellmouth, pulling his coat over his head to protect him from the bright sunshine. By the time they reached the bus, he was a bit singed around the edges, but didn't appear to have any major damage, at least physically.

The bus doors had barely closed behind them before Giles took off. He was driving as fast as he could, but the ground continued to give way behind them and they were barely keeping ahead of it. Finally, at the outskirts of town, he was able to slow and finally stop the bus. The damage seemed contained within the city limits.

"Here Buffy." Dawn handed her one end of a blanket. "We can put this over the windows so Spike doesn't get deep fried."

"Thanks." Buffy smiled gratefully at her sister. "I think he's only lightly toasted at the moment." They stretched out the blanket and tucked it into the bus windows. Dawn gave Buffy a quick hug before going to check on some of the injured.

"Spike? Are you alright?" Buffy touched his shoulder and he sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. She saw that the area beneath the chain of the amulet was faintly red, like a burn.

"Guess so. Feel...strange." He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the blanket covered window.

Buffy reached over the back of the seat and touched Willow's hand. "Hey, Will? What do you think happened with this amulet? And why is it making Spike feel all wonky?"

Willow leaned forward and carefully wrapped her fingers around the amulet. "I'm not sure, but it was packing some powerful mojo. I can still feel the echoes." She let it go. "As for Spike, he's probably got a bit of a magic hangover. I...remember how those feel. It'll wear off in time." She frowned, the tips of her ears turning pink.

"Maybe I should take it off him." Buffy managed to slip the chain from around Spike's neck without waking him, and offered it to Willow. "Do you want to hang on to it?"

Willow's face brightened. "Sure! I'd love to do the research thing, when we have some time." She turned it over in her hands. "This must have some really interesting history behind it. Angel didn't know anything about it?"

Buffy shook her head. "Nope."

"Well, as soon as we get somewhere with an internet connection, I'll check it out."

"That may have to wait for a bit." Giles maneuvered through the obstacle course of Slayer feet and finally reached them. "We need to get Robin to a hospital right away. Possibly Rona, as well." He peered at Buffy's bloodstained shirt. "Is that your blood?"

"Oh. Yeah." Buffy lifted her shirt, and saw that the wound in her abdomen hadn't closed yet, but was no longer bleeding. "I'll be fine. You know me and hospitals. Just say no."

Giles nodded and gave her a tired smile. "How is he?" he asked, nodding towards Spike.

She knew he was mostly asking for her sake, but she appreciated the gesture. "I'm sure he'll be fine, but that amulet thingy really did a number on him."

"And on the Turok Han, I'm told. You'll have to tell me all about it, once we get everyone taken care of. I believe the nearest hospital is about seven miles away. I suggest we find some accommodations nearby for everyone else, at least for the night. Then we can decide what to do next."

"Sounds good." As Giles turned to leave, Buffy placed her hand on his arm. "Thank you for handling this, Giles. I'm not feeling all that planny right now."

Giles eyes flitted over to Spike, then back to her. "Understandable." He patted her hand before making his way back to the front of the bus and taking the driver's seat. As the bus began to move again, Buffy watched the dust rise from the place that, despite everything, had been her home. Sunnydale grew smaller and smaller in the distance, and then the road curved, and it was gone.

The bus rolled into the hospital parking lot, and Buffy got up and put her arm around Faith's shoulders as they waited for the gurney to arrive and take Robin.

"How's Liz doin'?" Faith asked.

"He's had a magical overdose, Willow says." She looked back at him, slumped against the bus window. "I hope he'll be okay."

Faith shrugged. "Saving the world takes a lot out of a guy, I guess."

Buffy couldn't hide her smile. "Yeah, I guess he did, didn't he?"

"He's a regular hero type," Faith said. Robin groaned, his face contorting in a grimace of pain. "Shit, he's bleeding again." She put her hands over his wound, and her eyes flashed angrily. "Why'd he have to go and get himself skewered? This caring about other people thing really has its downside, you know?"

"I know. But you have to take a risk once in awhile, or you're never going to have anything worthwhile."

The emergency room staff entered the bus and began to load Robin onto a stretcher.

"That sounds like good advice, B." Faith looked pointedly from Buffy to Spike. "Make sure you take it, alright?"

Buffy smiled as Faith headed down the bus stairs. "I will if you will."

***

The injured, along with Faith, Giles, and Dawn, were left at the hospital. Xander drove the bus to a motel less than a mile away, where they were given strange looks, but asked few questions by the man behind the desk.

"Money talks, even when you're covered in blood and vampire dust," Xander said, stuffing a wad of bills back into his jacket pocket. They'd all cleared out their accounts before the Sunnydale banks had closed up shop, though Buffy was sure it was mostly Xander and Anya's money. "You want I should room with dazed and confused over there?" he asked.

Buffy glanced over at Spike, who had propped himself up in the shade of the building. A cigarette hung out of his mouth, but the ash was an inch long. "Um, no. Actually, I..."

Xander's lips curved up briefly, a brave attempt at a smile. "You're with Slim. I got it."

In all the confusion, in her concern for Spike, Buffy realized she had said nothing to him about Anya. Damn it. How Andrew had escaped and she hadn't Buffy didn't know. "Xander, I'm so sorry about Anya. If I can..."

He held up his hand. "Not now, okay? I've had to listen to Andrew wax poetic about her the entire way here. Not that I don't appreciate it. I just can't wrap my feeble brain around it right now. I think I just need to be by myself."

Buffy gave him a brief hug and took one of the keys from his hand. "Why don't you make Andrew hand out the rest of these so you can get some rest?" He nodded and turned away. "Oh, and Xan?"

"Yeah?"

"You did good. In the fight. I knew I could count on you."

This time his smile was sad, but genuine. "Hey, I have faced the ire of Dawn Summers. And been soundly defeated, I might add. A bunch of pre-historic vampires are nothing compared to that."

Buffy smiled back. "Don't I know it. Now go get some sleep."

Spike stared out into the parking lot, which held nothing more interesting than their dusty school bus and a beat up Ford pick-up with Nevada plates, as far as she could tell. She gently removed the cigarette from his mouth and his eyes widened in surprise. "I think you forgot to smoke this," she said, grinding it out with the toe of boot. She looked at the key - number 8. "Come on, our room's down here."

"Our room?" Spike lagged several steps behind, but she decided not to take that, or his comment, personally.

"You got a problem with that?" she teased, turning the key in the lock. The door swung open, revealing one queen sized bed.

His breath tickling her neck when he spoke was a surprise; he was right there at her shoulder. "No problem," he said softly.

***

Buffy stood in front of the motel room door for a moment before unlocking it. Against her better judgment she'd left Spike there alone, going first to check on everyone at the hospital, then to the Wal-Mart down the road for clean clothes and a few toiletries. The attached McDonald's was the final stop. Vi had gone with her, and was now handing out toothbrushes and hamburgers to everyone else.

Buffy had hurried her along, eager to get back here. Now, though, she felt an odd nervousness. This was just Spike, she told herself. She'd slept in the same bed with him for the last few nights. This was no different. Except everything felt different all of a sudden. Full of possibility. Including the possibility that it could all go terribly, horribly wrong. Oh for God's sake Buffy, just go in. She took a deep breath, and turned the key in the lock.

"Quarter pounder with cheese, or A negative, what'll it be?" she called out, closing the door behind her. The only light came from the TV, and her eyes took a moment to adjust to the semi-darkness. Then she realized that Spike was in bed, asleep. It seemed he'd taken a shower; his clothes were piled near the bathroom door, and his hair was damp. She smiled when she saw the curls falling onto his forehead. He hated his curly hair, while she secretly loved it. She'd have to tell him that. Because she was the new and improved, relationship-savvy, emotionally available Buffy. She rolled her eyes at herself. Yeah, right.

The motel didn't have much in the way of amenities, but it did have a tiny refrigerator, so Buffy placed the blood she'd borrowed from the hospital inside. Giles had promised that someone would donate enough to make up for what she'd taken. Then she sat down in the one chair in the room and devoured both of the burgers she'd brought.

She took her time in the shower, using up most of the tiny motel soap that Spike had left there. The warm water pounded down on her, washing away layers of grime and blood. Her abdomen was still tender, and the soap stung a bit. After drying off carefully, she put on the knit pants and tank top she'd bought to sleep in.

The sheets that covered the bed were cheap and scratchy, but as she slipped into the bed beside Spike, it felt like five hundred thread count Egyptian cotton at The Ritz. She hadn't realized just how tired she really was. He lay on his side with his back to her, and when she pulled back the covers, she saw he wasn't wearing anything. Of course not; his clothes were filthy. She hesitated only a moment before spooning herself against him, wrapping one arm around him. His hand sought hers out, even in sleep, and brought them up to rest against his chest. The skin there was still warm from where the amulet had burned him. Buffy sighed, breathing in the familiar and comforting scents of soap and Spike and the faint smell of tobacco before drifting off to sleep.

***

It was the sound of his voice that woke her. Spike was a talker, even in his sleep, so that in itself wasn't unusual. Usually she couldn't even make out what he was saying - other than her name, on occasion. This time, the anger and fear she heard in his voice startled her.

"Spike?" She knelt beside him and shook his shoulder gently. "Spike, wake up."

"No! Wasn't the plan!"

"Spike!"

His game face came forward, and he pushed her away violently, knocking her clear across the bed. "No!"

He growled, his eyes were wild and unseeing; Buffy could tell that he was still asleep. When he started to get up out of bed, she pushed him onto his back, pinning him down. He struggled for a moment before finally looking up at her with recognition. "Buffy?"

She sagged against him in relief, closing her eyes and rested her forehead against his for a moment.

"What'd I do? Did I hurt you?"

She raised her head. "No, you just had a bad dream, that's all. What was it about?"

He looked at her in confusion. "Don't remember."

"That's okay."

"I'm sorry..."

She brushed the hair back from his forehead; though the ridges melted away, it was still creased with worry. "Willow said that the effects of the amulet should wear off soon."

"Hope so." He closed his eyes and seemed to relax a little. "Everything feels...off."

She was still sitting astride him, and all that separated them was the sheet and the thin fabric of her pants. She shifted her weight a bit, and felt him harden beneath her.

"Maybe you should move," he said softly, opening his eyes.

"What if I don't want to? Is that okay?" She lowered her head and brushed her lips across his.

"Buffy...wait."

"Maybe we've waited long enough."

Spike blinked up slowly at her, and then reached under the hem of her loose fitting top, his fingertips ghosting over her belly. Her wound had healed over, but was still tender below the surface. "Don't want to hurt you," he said.

"I know. And I don't want to hurt you, either."

There was more behind their words than just concern over battle wounds. There was always more. Everything that had happened between them both good and bad was still there, just under the surface. Ready to rise up and show itself if you dug too deep. That should have scared her - it had up till now. But now the only thing she was scared of was losing him. That had almost happened today. That could happen any day.

She rolled off him and onto her side, pulling him close so that they were face to face. "Do you know what I just realized?"

"What?"

"That I'm really happy to be alive. And to be here, in this ugly bed, in this ugly motel room. With you."

She wasn't sure when it had become so important to her that he was okay, that he was close to her. That he was happy. Her feelings for him were complicated, and nothing she could put a name to before. Now it seemed simple, though. This, she thought, is what love is. And she was ready for it.

His fingers caressed her jaw before sliding up into her hair and pulling her in for a kiss.  
She broke away just long enough to pull her top over her head, an invitation for his deft fingers to slide off her bottoms. With gentle hands he pulled her on top of him, and they both groaned at the full body contact. Skin on skin. Finally.

She hadn't kissed him, hadn't touched him like this in over a year. Or ever, really. Not in this way. Her hands wandered over his body while her lips seemed unable to leave his, unable to stop kissing that soft, lush mouth.

She wasn't sure how he'd be after his initial reluctance, but his fingers sought out just the right places, stroked and prodded until she was moaning and babbling his name. The feel of him was so familiar but at the same time brand new, and her skin prickled wherever it touched his. She couldn't wait any longer. She wanted to. She wanted to make it last all night, but she couldn't help it. He gazed at her with such solemn eyes as she sank down on him that she had to bite her lip to keep from crying.

Buffy wasn't used to saying the words; even now, she had to whisper them in his ear. She was afraid it wasn't good enough, that she hadn't done it right. But when she met his eyes again, the look he gave her just did her in. He held her close as she shattered around him, held her face in his hands and kissed her as he followed her over the edge.

"I love you, too, Buffy," he whispered back. "I love you, too."

***

Sleepy and sated, Buffy fitted herself to his side and pulled the covers up around them. Just a nap was what she planned. But the day, the week, the year she'd had had exhausted her, and she slept deeply, waking up in the same position several hours later. With one exception - there was a cold, empty space next to her where Spike had been. She sat up quickly and was relieved to see him standing across the room with his back to her. It was almost as if he was looking out the window, though the drapes were, of course, closed. He was wearing the jeans she'd bought for him, and nothing else. She took a moment to admire the view; the broad shoulders tapering to the narrow waist, the muscles of his back which flexed as he moved. He was smoking a cigarette, and every time he brought it to his mouth, his arm passed through a narrow beam of sunlight that was streaming in from a gap in the threadbare draperies. She saw a faint curl of smoke rise up off his skin, then disappear.

"Playing with fire a little literally over there, aren't you?" she asked. She meant it to be teasing, but it came out more seriously than she intended.

He glanced at her over his shoulder. "Might say the same for you, pet."

His face was so devoid of emotion that she barely recognized it. She shivered and drew the blankets up to her chin. "What do you mean Spike? What's wrong?"

Slowly he turned and stepped toward her, stopping just before he reached the end of the bed. So many emotions crossed his face so quickly that she was unable to identify a single one before the cool mask descended again. He took another drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke out of the side of his mouth. "It's gone, Buffy," he said.

"What's gone? What are you talking about?"

"My soul. It's gone."


	2. Chapter 2

He knew she was awake before she knew herself. He'd been up for hours, sitting in the lumpy chair, watching her sleep. Listening to the soft sighs that sometimes punctuated the rhythm of her breathing, and if he listened hard enough, the strong, steady thump of her heart.

Willow had said that the effects of the amulet would wear off, and they had. All except for this one little thing. He'd woken up in Buffy's arms, her hair tickling his nose, and known it. In his gut. Just...known it. He'd been trying to suss out what he was going to do, how to tell her. But he kept getting distracted by memories of the night before.

Wasn't like it was the best shag they'd ever had. She'd still been injured, and he'd felt off kilter from the beginning. But she was so sweet. So *wanting* of him. And when she'd whispered those words in his ear, the ones he'd longed to hear forever, they'd been so soft and hesitant that he hadn't dared to believe them - until he looked into her eyes. There he'd seen the truth of it. She'd been open to him like never before.

The girl - that poor little psychic girl - had predicted it. And now look what was happening. Should've known that there'd be a twist to it. Should've learned that from Dru long ago.

When he heard Buffy begin to stir, the tempo of her breathing speeding up, he hauled himself from the chair and lit a cigarette. He needed the rush of nicotine to still his shaking hands. He felt her eyes on him, expectant, and he took another drag. The heat of the sun was like a laser beam as his arm passed through it. Gave him something to focus on besides this feeling of...dread.

"Playing with fire a little literally over there, aren't you?"

He could hear the worry in her voice. Always worried about him, since he'd returned from Africa. Since she found out about the soul. Her concern touched him so that he would have been happy just to have that from her for the rest of his days. But he'd gotten more than that. So much more. She'd given him her body, once again. And she'd given him her heart. Such a hard thing for her to do, he knew it was. Such a stupid thing for her to do, turned out.

"Could say the same about you, pet."

"What do you mean Spike? What's wrong?"

She was confused. Knew something was off. All those hours and he still hadn't figured out a way to tell her. Didn't know how to break it gently. He figured quick was the best way, then. Rip off the bandage in one motion. He stepped closer. Wanted to take her in his arms, but thought better of it.

"It's gone, Buffy," he said.

"What's gone? What are you talking about?"

"My soul. It's gone."

She stared, uncomprehending for a moment. She looked so small, sitting all alone in the middle of the bed, knees drawn up to her chin. Her eyes, already huge in her pale face, filled with tears, and she shook her head as if willing it not to be so. "But...you said...I thought..."

God, she was killing him. He moved closer, reaching out to touch her, comfort her. "Buffy..."

"Don't you touch me!"

Her hand met his chest, not as hard as it could have, but enough to send him staggering backward and falling gracelessly onto his ass.

Her rejection, though not unexpected, was more painful than he'd imagined. Stupid git. Wasn't like he hadn't been through this before, after all. She started yelling at him, but it took him a moment to register what she was saying.

"You said there was no curse! That you won your soul! In trials..."

"Fucking hell, Buffy, I did! Did it for you! How could you think...?" Oh. Oh, God.

Angelus.

How could he have forgotten that? Of course she'd go there. Still. Fuck. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself.

"There was no curse, Buffy. That's not what happened. It was the amulet."

"The amulet..."

He followed her gaze down to the spot, still pink, where it had lain against his chest. Wasn't much if you asked him. Seemed like having your soul ripped out ought to leave more of a mark.

"The light. The light coming from the amulet. That was your _soul._ "

He nodded, watching her from his position on the floor as Buffy swung her legs over the side of the bed and wrapped the sheet around herself. She stared at him for a long moment.

"Your soul's been gone since we left the Hellmouth."

Her accusation hung in the air between them, unsaid. 'Why didn't you tell me before? I wouldn't have made love to you if I'd known.'

He picked himself up off the ground, grabbing his smokes from the table and shaking one out of the pack. "You're wondering why I didn't mention this last night?" He shrugged. "Thought it might ruin the mood." He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but it was too late. They were out there now. And besides, wasn't like anything he said would make much of a difference.

Buffy reached down, methodically gathering up the clothing that had ended up on the floor, one piece at a time. Slowly she walked to the bathroom, pausing for a moment in the doorway to speak to him in a calm, empty voice. "That's not what I was saying. And I know you're lying. You were confused last night. You didn't realize. You even tried to tell me something was wrong." Her lower lip began to tremble, and the calm facade was gone. "But if I didn't believe it before, I do now."

"Buffy..."

She slammed the door in his face.

The walls were thin, and even through the relentless pounding of the shower he could hear her sobs. He wanted to go to her, tell her what an idiot he was - and that had sod all to do with his missing soul. But he wasn't about to follow her into the bathroom of all places, that was for damn sure.

He pulled the t-shirt she'd bought him the day before out of the plastic bag. It was dark blue instead of black.

_"Ever think of branching out into, say, a color?" she'd teased him once, a few days before the battle._

_"I'm workin' my way up to navy blue."_

And she'd laughed, a rare, unselfconscious tinkling bell of a laugh that had filled him with stupid pride. Brilliant, Spike. Now you've made her cry. Way to reassure her. Show her how everything was going to be just dandy.

He was putting on his boots when the bathroom door opened. She was dressed in the same clothes she'd worn the night before, and her damp hair was pulled back off her face. She sat down next to him on the bed.

"Buffy..."

She held up her hand. "Please don't. Not yet. It's...like I went to bed with one guy and woke up with another. You've got to give me a minute."

He shook his head, and she sighed. "OK, what?"

"Still the same guy, pet."

"I know you think that."

He jumped to his feet, his anger surprising even him. "Don't _do_ that, Buffy! Don't you dare condescend to me. Not after...everything."

She gazed back at him steadily. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to come out that way. But you can't expect me to just shrug my shoulders and act like nothing's happened."

He sat back down again, running his hands through his hair. "Don't expect that."

"What do you expect?"

He looked over at her, sitting there calmly next to him. "You're still here, as am I. That's more than I expected, really."

He'd never seen her look sadder, at that.

"Buffy, I still feel the same. Last night..." he reached over and took her hand. She let him, and her eyes softened as he entwined his fingers with hers.

The knock at the door startled them both, and she pulled her hand away. "Yes? Who is it?" Buffy asked, her voice stiff and unnatural. She rolled her eyes at herself, and he nearly laughed.

"It's me. Willow. The honor of your presence is kindly requested at breakfast this morning," she said, picking up on Buffy's formal tone. "There's a greasy spoon across the street, and Giles wanted to fill us in, make some plans. Unless you're too busy..." she asked, the last word filled with innuendo.

"No. Not busy," Buffy answered quickly. "I'll be right over."

Well, didn't take her long to find a reason to run off. "You gonna tell them?" he asked, after Willow’s footsteps had faded away.

"I have to, Spike. I can't keep this from them."

He nodded. "Guess I'd better get the bloody hell out of Dodge, then."

"You're going to _leave?_ "

At least she seemed upset about it. "You honestly think they won't want to do me in, they find out? That your precious watcher won't be right over here before he finishes his first cuppa, stake in hand?"

"I really don't know how they're going to react. All I know is that _I_ won't let that happen."

Spike nodded. He didn't really believe she could keep that from happening if enough were against her; he was surrounded by Slayers, after all. But he believed that she meant what she said, and that was enough to keep him here in this room, even if it was a deathtrap.

Buffy hesitated at the door. "Are you hungry? There's blood in the fridge. I got it at the hospital yesterday."

"Thanks, pet."

"I know we have to...I won't be long."

"Don't worry. I'll be here when you get back." He was tempted to ask whether she really wanted him to be there, or if she just wanted to keep an eye on the newly soulless vampire. But he didn't. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.

She gave him a small smile, and the door clicked softly closed.

***

Giles removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Excuse me," he said to the waitress as she passed by. "I'm going to be needing some tea. A very strong cup of tea." He sighed and looked at his watch. "Unfortunate that it's too early for Scotch."

"It's five o'clock somewhere," Willow said. "I don't think tea's going to cut it. No offense, Giles."

Giles' laughter held just the slightest edge of hysteria.

"Will you two stop? It's not..." Unexpectedly, tears stung Buffy's eyes. "It's not the end of the world."

"Oh, Buffy." Willow put her arm around Buffy and rested her cheek against the top of her head. "What are you going to do?"

Buffy hugged her briefly in return, before blowing her nose into a paper napkin. "No idea."

"Is he...how is he?"

She knew what Willow was asking. 'Is he a homicidal maniac that will kill my fish?' Buffy shrugged. "He's Spike." Then she remembered that Spike had tried to kill Willow once. No, twice.

To her credit, Willow didn't mention that minor detail. "Well, there is the Gypsy curse thing. And luckily, I have recent experience in soul restoration!"

Buffy tried to smile. "I...I don't know if Spike would go for that. Or if he even wants his soul back. I hadn't even thought of it, to tell you the truth, and we haven't had a chance to really talk."

"So you're leaving it up to him?" Giles took a sip of his tea and grimaced. "Does no one in this country..."

"I don't know Giles! I don't know why we can't make good tea, and I don't know what I'm going to do about Spike. Okay! I don't know!"

Giles eyes widened in surprise. "Buffy, I know how difficult this if for you. Let's just try to calm down, shall we?"

"I am calm!"

"Hey guys, what's up?"

Buffy jumped, nearly spilling her water. "Dawn! What are you doing here?" she asked, too loudly.

Dawn gave her the patented 'my sister is a lunatic' look. "Um, I think it's called 'breakfast?'" She made air quotes with her fingers. "I figured this would be better than the hospital cafeteria, at least."

Willow pulled some money out of her pocket. "Here, Dawnie. Why don't you go buy something to go, and get something for Xander too, okay? He wasn't feeling up to it this morning, but I bet he wouldn't say no to a large coffee and a jelly donut."

Dawn smiled at Willow, rolled her eyes at Buffy, and made her way to the counter.

Buffy rested her forehead on the table and Willow rubbed her back soothingly. "Look, Buffy. This all just happened. Give yourself some time, see what happens."

Giles cup clattered as he set it down too hard in the saucer. "Willow. There is an soulless -" he turned his head to look at Buffy, "and chipless, I might remind you - vampire sitting unguarded in Buffy's motel room. I'm not sure a laissez-faire attitude is prudent."

The color rose in Willow's cheeks. "Also a very good point."

Buffy raised her head and leveled her gaze at Giles. "He won't hurt anyone."

"And how can you be sure of that?"

"Because I know him. He loves me. He wouldn't do that _to me._ "

Giles pushed his cup away. "I certainly hope he loves you as much as he thinks he does."

***

He'd been dozing on the bed when he smelt her, heard her boots clicking on the cement walkway, then stopping outside the door. Could almost imagine her pausing, listening, then hesitantly rapping the knuckles of her small, deceptively delicate hand at the door.

Slayer.

Wasn't his Slayer, though. It was Vi.

He considered ignoring her, then changed his mind, running his hands through his hair before opening the door. She scooted into the room quickly, mindful of the sunlight that streamed through the opening. Sweet of her to watch out for him like that. She carried a large garbage bag over her shoulder, and with her impish looks put him in mind of one of Santa's elves. He smiled in spite of his mood.

"What brings you here, mini-might?"

She grinned and held up the bag. "Laundry duty. The owner is letting us use the washer and dryer. I thought you and Buffy might have some stuff that needed washing.

"Well, my coat is dry clean only, a'course, but the rest of it you can have."

She giggled, and he went around the room picking up filthy jeans and socks and such. When he got to Buffy's blood encrusted shirt, he held it up to inspect it. He poked his finger through a hole that went clean through both sides.

"S'pose this one's ready for the trash bin," he said. The scent of Buffy’s blood, even a day old, caused his stomach to rumble."

"I'm not much of a seamstress," she agreed.

Spike threw the shirt aside and began stuffing the rest of the items into her bag. "Now don't be mixing my stuff up with Harris's, alright? Don't want to be wearing a Hawaiian shirt tomorrow."

Vi giggled again. He remembered that not so long ago she would never have been relaxed enough to laugh in his presence. She'd trembled in his arms during their training practices. Called him 'sir.' Now, she thought of him as just part of the team. Spike the friendly vampire.

It was a warm day, and she was perspiring slightly. Her scent wafted up and off her, that heady combination of female power and youth that could only mean Slayer. His fangs itched, and he had to fight to keep the demon down.

He'd told Buffy he was the same man, but he hadn't told the truth. Could see that now. Wasn't like he didn't have these same desires as a souled vampire. He'd still had the hunger, still had the instinct to hunt, to kill. But whenever that desire showed itself, the guilt, the shame he'd felt over past deeds as well as deeds imagined was so strong that the bloodlust was dampened considerably. Now, as he looked at this sweet young girl who trusted him completely - who looked up to him in fact - and imagined draining her dry, he felt no guilt. No shame.

But he _remembered_ feeling it.

Bloody hell.

He sent her on her way, and leaned back against the door for a moment. Food. That's what he needed. Grabbing a bag of blood out of the fridge, he saw that it was human. Of course, now he remembered Buffy saying that she'd gotten it from the hospital. Cold and congealed, it was pretty disgusting. Warm, it would be like Dom Perignon after an eternity of only Budweiser. He ran the water in the sink as hot as it would go and floated the bag for a few minutes. He was just getting ready to sink his fangs into it when another knock came at the door.

"Who's there?" He hoped the irritation in his voice would scare whoever it was away.

"Me."

Dawn. Well there'd be no scaring her. He opened the door still holding the bag of blood. She marched in without waiting for an invitation and perched on the end of the bed.

"What's up with you?" she asked.

Did she know somehow? Had Buffy told her? "What do you mean?"

"You're all bumpy."

"Oh." He reached up and touched his brow, letting his human face come forward. "Was just about to have a snack," he said, holding up the bag.

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Ewww."

"No worse than some of the crap you've made for me over the years."

"Point," she agreed. "Bon appetit."

This time he took the shrink wrap off one of the motel glasses, and filled it with the blood.

"So. What brings you to this so much worse than humble abode, Nibblet?"

Wasn't like he and Dawn were best buds anymore, although he often wished they were. Missed her, missed the little girl who'd thought he was handsome and tough and cool. The girl who'd been his friend, silly as it seemed. She wasn't that little girl anymore, and he doubted she thought he was any of those things anymore, either. Matter of fact, wasn't so long ago she was threatening to torch him in his sleep.

Dawn folded her long legs up underneath her. "Nosiness. They're all at the diner, talking about you all hush, hush, and shutting me out again." She winked at him. "They took my taser away, so I decided to come directly to the source."

Spike took a sip from his glass. The thick, warm liquid slid silkily down his throat. He hadn't had human blood since...since he killed all those people and buried them in the basement of that house. It was something he had tried not to think about, though sometimes the memories had returned, unbidden and horrifying. But now he recalled it with a sort of detached curiosity. It was a bit disconcerting. He finished off his glass, savoring the flavor for a moment on his tongue.

"So, you want the scoop, yeah?“ He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Well, you know what they say. Curiosity killed the cat. Kitten."


	3. Collateral Damage

"So, you want the scoop, yeah?“ He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Well, you know what they say. Curiosity killed the cat. Kitten."

"Ooh, is it something _scary_?" Dawn's eye roll told him that she was just as scared of him as she ever was, meaning not at all. But then she smiled and leaned forward as well, elbows on her knees, unconsciously mirroring his position. Her eyes were bright with the anticipation of a good story. "This is almost like old times, isn't it?"

Ah, the good old days. Simpler times, those - when evil was evil and he didn't know any different. "All we need is a sarcophagus," Spike agreed. "Maybe a few rats scurrying about."

Dawn shifted uncomfortably, and surveyed the shabby room. "You had to mention rats, didn't you? But what we really need is Buffy busting in here, yelling at us both."

"Give it time, Little Bit. Give it time."

She laughed. "Nah. She never yells at you anymore. Everything's different now - you're not the Big Bad now, you're the Big Hero." Her eyes shone with pride.

She was proud of him. Of what he'd done. He hadn't seen that look from her in a long, long time. He'd let her down in so many ways - the tower was only the start of it. She was about the only reason he hadn't taken a walk in the sun after Buffy died. He'd promised to look out for her, but Dawn had looked out for him just as much that summer. Yeah, he'd really dropped the ball after Buffy came back, and he and Dawn had never really talked about it. He'd tried a couple of times, but she didn't want to hear it, not that he blamed her. But now here she was, reaching out to him. And he was going to have to let her down again.

A lump rose unexpectedly in his throat, and he tried in vain to swallow it down. "Dawn..."

She swallowed hard, too, and looked away, a sheaf of hair falling in front of her eyes. "Look, I know things have been weird with us since...since you came back from Africa."

"My fault."

She looked up, smiling shyly and tucking her hair back behind her ear. "Maybe. And you know, I never really understood the whole soul thing. What it meant. But I see now how important it was to Buffy. You going through all that for her was pretty great. And the two of you being together? Not that you should care, but I just want you to know that it's cool with me.

The lump had moved from Spike's throat into his stomach, and it was apparently made of lead. "I care." He got up slowly and crossed the room to sit next to Dawn on the edge of the bed. "Somethin' I have to tell you, sweet. See, this...thing happened to me down in the Hellmouth." He watched her face closely as he explained it all, curious as to her reaction, and more than a little anxious. She listened, eyes wide, and then asked him a lot of questions about how the amulet worked that he really couldn't answer.

"So how do you feel?" she finally asked.

"Feel?"

"I mean, do you feel different?"

He thought about it for a moment. "Yeah. A little."

"And...your chip is gone."

Here we go. He nodded. "Sure is."

"Um, about that whole 'I'll set you on fire' thing...you realize I was _totally_ kidding, right?"

The mock-innocent look she gave him was priceless, but she couldn't hold it for long before a giggle came bubbling up and out of her. As Spike started to snicker, her eyes widened. "Oh my God, first Angel and now you! No wonder Buffy is freaking out!" This made her laugh harder and she fell back on the bed, holding her stomach and laughing until tears came to her eyes. Spike grinned down at her, shaking his head. He knew it was mostly nerves that were making her react this way. And he should really be scolding her for laughing over the whole sodding mess - but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Finally she could laugh no more, and lay there limp and gasping for breath.

The door flew open, and as the Slayer came at him, he didn't even have time to wonder where he'd gone wrong.

***

"So you have no plan whatsoever?" Giles strode a step ahead of her and Willow. She could hear the accusing tone in his voice, see the tension in the set of his shoulders.

"I just found out! It's not like this has ever..." He looked back sharply at her over his shoulder, and she realized the stupidity of her comment. Buffy stopped walking, and Giles came the few steps back to stand in front of her, hands shoved deeply into his coat pockets. "This is different, Giles," she said quietly.

"Why? Because you say so?"

"Because he's different. Are you forgetting that he fought for his soul?"

Giles' eyes narrowed. "I haven't forgotten _anything_ Buffy."

He didn't have to say any more. She hadn't forgotten, either, and this whole situation had resurrected ghosts that she'd thought were put to rest long ago. The last time her vampire boyfriend had lost his soul, the woman Giles loved had lost her life. It was no wonder her assurances didn't hold any weight with him. He thought her feelings for Spike were still affecting her judgment.

And the truth was, they were.

Spike wasn't under the influence of the First any more, but he wasn't under the influence of the soul, either. Before, she'd been able to say to Giles with complete confidence, 'he can be a good man, he has a soul now.' But she couldn't say that anymore. All Spike had now to keep him from reverting to his pre-chip behavior was his love for her. And she didn't have to be reminded of what had happened the last time soulless Spike had tried to tell her he loved her, either.

"Giles, I...he's important to me."

The hard look in his eyes softened, and his voice was sympathetic. "I realize that. And I'm not suggesting we act rashly. We know how to re-soul a vampire, after all."

"Yes, we have the technology!" Willow added with a nervous laugh. "Or, you know, the curse."

She could just imagine Spike's reaction to that idea, though he would probably do it if she asked him to. Which is why she never would. Buffy's head began to pound, and she pressed the heels of her hands against her temples.

"Let's get you back to your room." Willow put an arm around her and steered her toward the motel.

"So you just left him alone there," Giles said, as they stood waiting to cross the two-lane highway which separated the diner from the motel.

"Should I have hired a sitter?" At Giles' look, she said, "Don't answer that."

"It's a motel full of slayers. What could happen?" Willow asked. That didn't make Buffy feel better. If any of them found out that Spike had lost his soul, there was no telling what they might do. She had to shield her eyes as an eighteen-wheeler passed, blowing road dust into her face.

Giles started across the street. "Right. And we all know Spike's history with slayers."

Buffy's steps quickened as she got closer to their room, the pounding in her head matching the beat of her racing heart. She needed to see him; that was the only thing that would make it better. Rushing ahead of Giles, she pushed open the door without knocking. Spike sitting there grinning was not what she expected. It took her a moment to notice the girl next to him.

It all happened so quickly. The girl's hair covered her face, and she seemed to be struggling for air. Next to her, Willow gasped. Buffy could hear Giles' reproachful words echoing in her head. The cold hand of fear reached inside, wrapped itself around her heart, and squeezed. She was on him before she even realized what she was doing, pushing him back on the bed, hands at his throat.

"Buffy, stop!" Dawn - a perfectly fine Dawn, cheeks rosy from laughter - was tugging on her arm. Buffy's fingers were still around Spike's neck, but he just lay there, arms outstretched, motionless. He hadn't tried to fight her, but his eyes held their own accusations. Slowly she pulled her hands away.

"Buffy, what are you doing? I was just laughing, like, really hard. That's all. What did you think?"

Buffy just blinked at her. Thinking hadn't really come into play.

"Dawn, there's something you should know," Giles said, "about Spike."

Dawn's eyes flashed defiantly and she sat up a little taller. Buffy felt a surge of pride in her sister. "I know about Spike. He told me everything."

Buffy forced herself to meet Spike's eyes, and he nodded. "Yeah, I told her. And much as I enjoy this position, love - you wanna _get off me?_ " The quiet anger in his voice sent a chill through her. God, what had she done? Spike sat up, rubbing his neck and giving her a look filled with such disappointment that she had to look away.

That's when she saw Xander standing behind Willow. He slouched in the doorway as if the doorframe was the only thing holding him up. "What's going on?" he asked, taking a big swig of the coffee Dawn had gotten him earlier. He looked like he really needed it, too - unshaven, hair disheveled, dark circles beneath his eyes. He must not have slept all night. Poor Xander. She could only imagine how he was going to react to this. Buffy struggled to come up with an explanation, but nothing came to her. It was all so complicated.

Seeing that Buffy wasn't going to answer him, Willow filled him in. "Long story short: the amulet sucked Spike's soul out." Apparently, it was only complicated for Buffy.

"Huh." Xander ran a hand through his hair and stared at Spike for a moment.

"Nothin' to say, mate?" Spike asked, holding his gaze.

Xander let out a snort that was equal parts amusement, disgust, and disbelief. "I'll say this: I'm really glad Angel didn't end up wearing that thing."

"Who's Angel?" Vi sidled past Giles and handed a stack of clothes to Spike. "Here you go. Black shirt, black pants, not a pattern or color to be found."

"Thanks, pet." Spike turned to Buffy and gave her a tight smile. "Vi stopped by earlier, picked up our laundry. Nice of her, don't you think? And I didn't even try to rip her throat out, did I Vi?"

Vi looked from Buffy to Spike and back again. "I think I missed something."

Spike tossed the stack of clothes on the bed. When he turned, every muscle taut, nostrils flaring, she could feel the rage coming off of him in waves.

"Well, I'm sure someone here is dying to tell you all about it," he said, doing his best to keep his anger in check.

When he stared down Giles, though, he made no such effort. "And as for the rest of you lot who barged in here uninvited, I'll thank you all to get the bloody hell out of my room so Dawn and I can finish our conversation!"

Buffy felt everyone's eyes on her, Spike's most of all. Inhaling deeply, she stepped forward to stand next to him. "You heard him. Everybody out," she said quietly.

"Buffy, you can't seriously..." Giles began.

"You go on ahead, Giles. I'll meet everyone in your room in a minute." Buffy held her breath until he finally turned and strode out of the room, the others trailing behind him. Willow paused in the doorway to give her a sympathetic look before following.

Buffy counted to ten. The few steps she had to take to reach the open door felt stiff and mechanical. "I'm sorry," she said without looking at him. "I shouldn't have...I wasn't..."

"Buffy." She felt Dawn's slender arms go around her, and Buffy turned into her embrace. It really wasn't fair that her baby sister was a head taller, but now she was glad to be able to hide her face against Dawn's shoulder. "I think you guys are the ones who need to talk. We can talk later, can't we Spike?"

"Sure thing, Nibblet."

Dawn gave her a final squeeze before pulling away. With a little wave to Spike, she slipped past the door, closing it softly behind her. Buffy steeled herself, and turned to face him.

***

Spike held onto his anger with an iron grip. If he let go of it now, he'd have to face what was lurking underneath. And he had a sneaking suspicion that pesky sentimental streak of his would rear its pathetic head. Too bad it hadn't gone the way of the soul, but no such luck. Buffy's big eyed stare and trembling lower lip were becoming a major threat, though, and he felt his hold slipping. He turned his back on her.

"Didn't want to hurt the Nibblet's feelings, but I've got sod all to say to you right now."

"I know. But I've got things to say to you."

"Too fucking bad. Go on, now, and let me get some shut-eye. Soon as the sun's down, I'll be out of your hair." He yanked the bed covers down and punched the pillow.

"You're leaving? Where...where will you go?" He could hear the panic in her voice. Probably afraid he was going out on some wild spree, raping and murdering all those unlucky enough to cross his path.

"Not really in a sharing mood right now, Slayer. But maybe you think I should I stay until the watcher decides to do me in again? Or maybe he'll wait for the principal to get out of hospital first, and they can have a go at me together." He dared a look at her, cold as he could make it. "Or, I'll just wait for you to mistake me havin' a conversation for me killing someone, and let you stake me." He pulled his shirt over his head and threw it in the vicinity of the corner. "Be a fitting end, I suppose."

"I made a mistake. I overreacted."

His rant had given her the chance to pull herself together, and her calmness now irritated the hell out of him.

"Overreacted? That what you call it? You actually think I'd hurt your sister, who I've risked my sorry life for over and over again?"

"Of course not. I didn't realize it was her."

"So, you thought I'd off some random bird as soon as the coast was clear, that it?"

"Oh give me a break! This isn't exactly your typical Wednesday, you know!"

"You say you'll keep the rest off me, and then _you_ try to kill me! If you'd had a stake on you, you'd be chattin' up a big pile of dust right now."

She reached behind her back and pulled out the stake that had been hiding in the waistband of her pants. How she managed to conceal the things in those miniscule outfits of hers was a constant marvel. She twirled it between her fingers. "You were saying?"

She had him there, dammit. Infuriating little bitch. He shrugged indifferently. "No matter. Still no place for me here. You go back to your friends where you belong."

Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, and he wanted to wipe that self-satisfied look right off her face. "Gee, you used to be all 'come to the dark side.' What's changed, Spike? Maybe that soul is still having a little influence, hmm?"

He snorted in disgust. "You're kidding yourself. Don't go there, Buffy, it's bloody dangerous."

Why did she have to torture him? Spike closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them again she'd be gone. Once again, no such luck. But then, he'd never been what you'd call a lucky bloke, had he?

"Spike. Look at me."

To refuse would be admitting defeat, so he glanced calmly in her direction. "You really should leave," he said, more kindly than he intended.

She lifted her chin defiantly. "No."

Such a spunky little thing. Spike felt a surge of love and pride well in him, and that really pissed him off. He stood and stalked toward her. She, of course, didn't back off one bit.

"Either stake me, or get out, because I'm bloody well tired of this, Buffy."

"I don't accept either of those options."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I love you."

He wanted to throttle her so badly that his hands shook. "No, you don't!"

"Don't you tell me how I feel! I was walking back from that diner and somehow got it in my head that Kennedy or one of the other girls might have delusions of grandeur with these shiny new powers of theirs. And if they found out about you..." She wrapped her arms more closely around herself. "Spike, I was terrified at that thought. Just like I was down in the Hellmouth when I thought I was going to lose you." She gave him a small smile. "And I don't scare easy."

He took a step backward, shaking his head. "You don't love me. You love a part of me that isn't here anymore."

"Is that right? You're two totally different people, who just happen to have the same terrible taste in clothing, is that what you're saying?"

"No, Buffy. That's what _you_ believe. You said it yourself not more 'an two hours ago. The only reason you could ever touch me again was because of my lily white soul. But that's gone now, and all that's left is a filthy, disgusting demon who'll turn on you the first time he doesn't get his way!"

He was getting to her, and not a moment too soon. He could see she was beginning to lose her composure, and when she spoke her voice trembled. Wasn't long before he realized it wasn't for the reasons he'd assumed, though.

"I'm not saying you're exactly the same. I'm saying I still love you. So I'm supposed to just stop feeling this way now, is that it? Maybe that's what I should do, but I can't. It's taken me a long time to get here, I know. But now that I am, I can't go back. I won't. And there _is_ good in you. There is love. And loyalty. And this insane, chivalrous streak that made you run off to Africa and turn yourself inside out for a girl."

Why didn't he just take her? She was offering herself to him on a silver platter, for pity's sake, and instead he stood there stupidly, shaking and terrified. All the fight had gone out of him, and when he finally tried to say something, he could barely hear his own voice.

"You don't trust me."

"Then tell me I can."

"I don't...?"

"Tell me that I can trust you, Spike, and I will." She moved a step closer. "You're my best friend."

"Oh, Christ..."

"And I'm not willing to give that up just because fate, or the powers that be or stupid bad luck has decided to screw with us again."

"Buffy. Please." He was begging, for what he wasn't sure.

"Tell me," she said softly. "Promise. You keep your promises. I know you do."

Her hope-filled eyes burned into his, and he could do nothing but as she asked. "You...can trust me. I promise."

She stepped forward, closing the gap between them, took his face in her hands, and kissed him. Hard and bruising he could have handled, but this tenderness left him weak-kneed and defenseless. She pulled his head down gently, her lips pressing softly against his, the pads of her thumbs caressing his face. Her tongue gently urged his lips apart until he gave in, groaning and wrapping his arms around her waist.

They stood there for he didn't know how long, arms wrapped around each other, mouths fused together, until she finally broke away. She folded her legs around him as he picked her up off the floor and deposited her gently back on the bed. And she didn't let go. Boots digging into his ass, she pulled him closer for more kisses as her hands slid down his back and under the waistband of his jeans. He was in an awkward position - half standing, bent over with his knees hitting the end of the bed - but he barely noticed, focused as he was on the feel of her lips and hands on him. There came a point where something had to give, though, and the way she was moving her hips, it was going to be him. Reluctantly she released him as he pulled back to remove her boots and slip her pants and knickers off in one motion. She sat up to pull her top over her head, lifting her face to kiss him while her hands were busy with the buttons of his jeans. Finally she pushed them down over his hips so that he could kick them off.

"That's better." She sighed, pulling him down on top of her. Her hands moved restlessly over his bare skin, lighting briefly here and there as if she didn't know where she wanted to touch first. She gasped when he attached his mouth to what he knew was a sensitive spot, that lovely place where her neck met her shoulder. As he shifted so that his thigh nestled between her legs, Buffy moaned and clasped him tightly, panting hot, warm air into his ear. She rocked against him rhythmically as he suckled at her neck; he could feel her muscles tense, and her heart rate increase.

Too soon, too soon. He rolled them over so that she was now smiling down at him, hair wild around her shoulders. "You did say you liked this position," she said.

Spike reached up the caress one nipple with his thumb, and she arched into his hand. "Does have a nice view," he agreed. His fingers trailed down to examine the scar on her belly, still faintly pink. Grasping her hips, he pulled her towards him, and she had to rest her hands on the mattress to keep her balance.

"What are you doing?"

He brushed his lips across her scar, then moved lower.

"Oh. _Oh._ "

Hands on her bottom, he scooted her closer, and she rose up and grabbed the cheap, imitation wood headboard for balance. It had been so long since he'd tasted her, and everything about it was as intoxicating as he remembered. Her scent, her flavor on his tongue, the site of her spread out before him. She was whimpering, chanting his name under her breath as she pressed her forehead against the wall. He heard the headboard crack in her hands, but she didn't seem to notice. Spike gripped her tightly as the muscles of her thighs began to quiver, and then tighter still until the ripples passed. She giggled and threw aside the piece of the bed that came away in her hands.

Sliding down to lay along the length of him, she kissed him languidly before rolling them over and pulling him inside. Their passion had none of the franticness of their earlier affair. This was something else. The way she felt was one thing. He hadn't been completely himself the night before, after all, and she'd been injured. Now he could take his time and have his fill. All that golden skin, sweat-slick and glowing. The feel of her as her hips rose up to meet his, every muscle pulling him closer and closer. The look on her face, that perfect little 'o' of bliss that her rosy, kiss-swollen lips made, and knowing he put it there.

But it was the way she looked at him that nearly did him in, something soulless Spike hadn't seen before. Like she saw him, saw right through him, and was right there with him anyway. There was no shame in her expression, no anger at him or herself. Just acceptance. He had to look away, bury his face in her neck to keep from being overcome. But she pulled his head back, forced him to look at her. Stubborn as all get out, his girl, and once she decided something, it was decided. And Buffy'd apparently decided that he was hers.

So much longing he'd stored up, so much yearning he'd learned to live with, that this was almost too much. "Buffy..." His arms began to shake and threatened to collapse on him.

But she just pulled him tighter, took all of his weight, those warm hands stroking and soothing. The sound of her voice in his ear was all he needed to send him careening over the edge. "It's okay," she whispered. "I've got you, now. I've got you."

Both of them were exhausted. He drew her up against him, reveling in the way she snuggled up to him, so relaxed and unguarded. Sighing sleepily, she closed her eyes, resting her hand against his chest, right on the spot where the amulet had been. Lifting her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm, he noticed that the mark on his chest was completely gone now. Her breathing deepened before too long, and he knew she was asleep. Tired as he was, he couldn't shut his brain off yet.

Soft sighs and longing looks. Love and trust and need. It was everything he'd always wanted from her, and he wasn't going to bugger it up. He'd told her she could trust him, and he knew exactly what she'd meant by that. Trust him not to hunt and kill. Trust him not to lose his temper and snap the neck of some idiot who pissed him off in line at the mini-mart check out. Trust him not to hurt her.

And he'd meant it. He'd meant it with all his heart. But sometimes, even if the heart was willing...

Buffy shivered, goose bumps breaking out on her skin, and he pulled the blankets up around them. She smiled in her sleep, and cuddled closer to him. He was not going to bugger this up. He wasn't.


	4. Collateral Damage

She was half-way there by the time she was fully awake, thinking at first that she was in the middle of the best sex-with-Spike dream ever - and there had been some good ones - and extremely pleased to find out that the reality was even better. She was surrounded by him, her back up against his solid chest, his arms wrapped around her, his hands busy. And her body was humming with pure sensation as his fingers slipped slowly in and out of her and his mouth, cool and moist, skimmed over her shoulders. She gasped and writhed against his hand as he found a particularly sensitive spot, and he chuckled deep in his throat, the sound vibrating throughout her body.

"Evenin', love," he said, sounding for all the world like a proper English gentleman tipping his hat to her on the street; instead his fingers plunged deeper inside her. And that made it all the hotter. That, and the feel of something hard and familiar pressing against the curve of her bottom.

"Is that a stake in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

He hooked his chin over her shoulder and placed lingering, nibbling kisses along her jaw. "Mmmm. Happy. Yeah, that must be it."

***

Lying in his arms, after, she had to fight the urge to jump up and _do_ something. She felt so self-indulgent. There was no one to fight right now, no mission that needed to be worked. This was supposed to be one of those simple pleasures of life that she should be able to enjoy now. Now that she wasn't the only one. And yet, there was all this _stuff_ just hanging over their heads, niggling at the back of her mind. It would be easy to let that take over. Spike pulled her in closer. Weren't women always complaining about how men never wanted to cuddle? She didn't think she'd ever have that problem. Buffy laughed. She was going to have to learn how to enjoy life. Take classes maybe. God, she was pathetic.

"What's funny?"

"Me." She sighed. “I don't know if I can do this."

She felt him stiffen. "Ah, well. Glad you waited till I got you off three times before tellin' me so."

Oh, crap. "NO! That's not what I meant!" She scrambled up and climbed over him, straddling his waist. "See? I'm so bad at this."

"Bad at what?" he asked warily.

She expected to see anger, but instead he was looking at her that way he did, with that mixture of love and something a little like awe. She knew that she could break him so easily, with just a word. It made her heart do back flips, thrilling and terrifying at the same time.

"This...being a couple. You know, I told...someone recently that I wasn't ready for a relationship, and then all this with you happened."

"You got second thoughts love, I wouldn't blame you. Slayer. Vampire. Not the best odds anyway, even without our stellar history. Rather you cut me loose now than later, though, that's the way it's gonna go. Regret‘s an awful thing to live with." He pushed her hair back and over her shoulder. "I should know."

She stared down into those fathomless eyes. Were they different now? Was something missing? She knew that there was. But all she could see right now was that terrible love he had for her.

What was she doing? Was she lying to herself? She really had no idea if this, being with him, was the right thing. Or the smart thing. It was without a doubt the selfish thing. But it was also the only thing. The only thing she could do. The other options - stake him, force a soul on him, let him leave? - were not options at all. Not after what they'd been through.

She leaned closer to him, her hair falling down again and brushing against his cheek. "I would regret not trying. We're in this together this time." She had to believe that would make the difference.

"Glad to hear you say that," he said softly. He sat up, one hand cupping her face. He studied her for a moment, brushed the knuckles of the other hand across her cheek, ran his thumb over her bottom lip. "Somethin' I gotta do. Somewhere I gotta go." He took a breath. "Hope you'll come with."

"Where to?"

He scrubbed at his face with his hand. "Last place I wanna go, really. Last place I want to take you, for certain."

"Spill, cryptic-guy. I have many talents, but riddle solving isn't one of them."

He gave her a bitter smile. "Fancy a little side trip to the City of Angels, love?"

"Angel? But, why?"

Her heart was in her throat. Last person he wanted to see? She wasn't exactly thrilled about the prospect of pulling into Angel's town with Spike, either. Spike didn't answer. Just gave her a small smile, as if she should be able to figure it out for herself. And then - light bulb - she knew the answer.

She took his hand and threaded her fingers through his. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. "No one takes what's mine without a fight."

Buffy kissed him, and smiled. Now she knew that this was the right thing, after all.

***

Buffy could tell that it was Dawn just from the way she knocked on the door. Not only Dawn, but the hyperactive version. Yay. As soon as Buffy turned the door handle, she rushed past her, but pulled up quickly when she saw what had become of the room. The headboard was broken, a piece of it lying next to the bed, sheets and pillows were strewn everywhere, lampshades were askew.

"The bed is broken. Is that good broken or bad broken?"

Buffy could feel her face warming, and she hurried to pick up the bedspread and toss it over the rumpled sheets. "It's...good. The good kind."

Dawn wrinkled her nose and headed for the one small window in the room. "Eww, I should have known right away. It reeks in here." She drew back the curtains and slid the window open.

"So?"

"So what?"

Buffy sat down on the end of the bed and patted the space next to her. "So, what brings you running over here like the energizer bunny? Too many Ding Dongs, or top secret information are my first two guesses."

"Okay, first, no way I'm sitting on _that_ bed. And ha ha. I just thought you'd like to know that they've got plans for Spike," Dawn said. "But if you don't care..."

Spike stepped out of the bathroom, dressed but rubbing his wet hair with a towel. "What kind of plans?"

"Plans that involve an Orb of Thessulah being messengered here from Las Vegas."

"Well that's a waste of time, innit? I mean, with its unfortunate little loophole, my poor soul'll be in the lost and found more often than not. Won't it pet?" He sat down next to Buffy, giving her a smirk and nuzzling her neck before she pushed him away with a laugh.

"Um, eww? And I'm glad you guys think this is so funny. I'm so happy I risked the trauma to my virginal eyes by coming in here."

Buffy shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, Dawn. It's just that it's not that big of a surprise. Unfortunately."

Spike sobered up quickly. "Sorry, sweet bit. I do appreciate it."

"Okay, whatever. I'm leaving."

"Nibblet?"

She sighed dramatically before turning back around, her hand already on the door knob. "What now?

"Thanks for being on our side." That got him a smile, and she closed the door softly behind her.

"I guess we'd better go and talk to them," Buffy said.

"I s'pose. Oh, bugger - forgot something. Meet you there in a minute, pet."

"Wait, what did you..."

"Hey, hold on a mo'! Wait up, nibblet!" Spike jumped up and was out the door, telling Dawn he had a mission for her, should she choose to accept it. Buffy didn't hear what it was, just saw them take off for the front office of the motel. And she didn't ask. She wasn't going to spend every moment he was out of sight being worried. In for a penny, in for a pound. That's what they said, right? Besides, right now she was too busy worrying about what her other friends were doing when they were out of her sight.

***

"I would never have done anything without talking to you guys first! Giles just thought we should be prepared. Besides, it's always good to have a spare Orb of Thessulah around. You never know when someone might need one..."

"Plus, it makes a nice looking paperweight," Xander added.

Spike crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the door. "Right. No secret plans. Got it. That's why you're all gathered here in the watcher's room, havin' a right old Scooby pow wow. Even got Faith here. You just forgot to invite Buffy, that it?"

"Hey Liz, back off, would you?" Faith held up her hands. "I was just gettin' the debriefing, that's all. Had no idea all this had gone down while I was at the hospital - and Robin‘s fine, thanks for asking. But for the record? I'm a neutral party. If you're with B, it's her call as far as I'm concerned."

"And if I may remind you Spike, both you and Buffy had asked us all, quite emphatically, to leave your room. We didn't think an interruption would be...appreciated," Giles said.

Buffy stepped in front of Spike just as he was pushing himself away from the door, and his chest bumped up against her back.

"What I'd appreciate is bein' in on any decision involving _my_ fucking soul!"

"We - and that's 'we' meaning Willow and Giles due to my astounding lack of magical skills - weren't going to do anything behind your back, Spike." Xander ran his hands through his hair. "But do you really blame us for being a little bit concerned? How many times when you were soulless did you threatened to kill me? And you almost did once, remember?"

Buffy felt Spike deflate a little behind her.

"Everything's different now," he said gruffly. "Wouldn't...I wouldn't do that."

Giles took off his glasses and laid them on the table beside him. "Spike," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly, "we all appreciate what you did down in the Hellmouth. What you were willing to do. And you may well have good intentions, still. But now you don't have the soul to stand between you and...temptation. I would think that, if you love Buffy as you say you do, that you would want to..."

"No. Nobody is putting a curse on me, especially not that bastard Angel's curse!"

Buffy winced, more from the shouting in her ear than anything. Why couldn't she have Slayer eardrums? "Spike. Why don't we just..."

"No. I've wasted enough fucking time on this." He turned toward Willow. "Just give me the amulet and we’re off."

"The amulet?" she asked Buffy.

"Don't look at her. I wore the sodding thing, it took my soul, and I'll bloody well have it if I want. Now give it up." He held out his hand.

Willow shrugged, took it out of her pocket and put it in his hand.

"Thanks ever so. Gettin' late, pet," he said to Buffy. "We'd better shove off, we wanna get there at a decent hour."

"Shove off where?" Xander asked.

"Los Angeles."

"How? Sorry, you can't take the bus."

Spike shrugged. "Gotta be a car in the lot I can jack," he said. "I'll wait for you outside, love." Pocketing the amulet, he threw the door open. It bounced against the wall and he caught it again on his way out, slamming it shut just as hard.

Buffy turned around and smiled. "He's kidding about the car." She hoped he was kidding.

"Los Angeles, Buffy?" Giles asked. They were all looking at her with confusion.

She shook her head. "You think he's happy this happened, or relieved or something. And I'm sure a part of him is. But he's also _really_ pissed off. Since Angel gave me that amulet, he figures that's the place to go for more information."

Faith laughed. "Oh, man. I wish I could be a fly on the wall for that one!"

"Tell me about it," Xander added. "You and Spike and Angel? The mind boggles."

Faith's eyebrows raised suggestively. "Mmm, it's not my mind that's boggling."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I'm really looking forward to it."

Giles rose up out of the chair. "Hold on, Buffy. I'm still not quite sure I understand why..."

"I didn't either, at first. But if he finds out how it works, how it took his soul, he might be able to find out how to get it back." She smiled sadly at Giles. "See, you were right after all. He does love me as much as he says he does."

***

Spike was leaning up against an old Le Baron, smoking a cigarette when she got outside. Dawn sat cross legged on the hood.

“Your chariot awaits,” Spike said, with a little bow.

“Well, now I know you didn’t steal it, at least. There’re much nicer cars than this rust bucket in the parking lot.”

“Rent-A-Wreck,” Dawn said. “There’s one over by the hospital. I put it on your credit card.”

“Ah, so that’s what Spike was whispering to you about earlier.” And that explained why Dawn had scampered off rather than being in on the meeting, too.

She hopped down off the car. “Yup. I missed all the juicy stuff just for you. And since I’ve done you this favor, I don’t suppose you’ll let me come with you?”

Buffy smiled. “Not a chance.”

“Okay. Didn't think so.” She gave Buffy a squeeze. “Spike told me what you’re doing. Good luck.”

Spike dropped his cigarette and ground it out with the toe of his boot. “Hey, can I get me one of those?”

Dawn blushed. “Sure.” She gave him a quick hug, and then, as a second thought, a peck on the cheek.

“We best be goin’ Slayer.”

“Right.” There was no sense putting off the inevitable.

They both waved to Dawn as Spike pulled out of the parking lot and headed south. She was surprised when he pulled to the side of the road after they’d gone only a mile or so.

"You don't have to go," he said, putting the car into park. "Can tell how much it's troublin' you."

“Why would you say that?”

He reached across the seat and placed his hand between her breasts. "Your heart's beatin' like a little bird's, love."

Stupid vampire senses.

She took a breath. "It’s just that it’s going to be all kinds of awkward. A variety pack of awkward. Many different flavors."

"Not my fault you were snoggin' him only a couple o' days ago."

She took his hand from her chest and pushed it away from her. “See? More jealous vampire crap to look forward to.”

Spike sighed. “Let me handle it on my own then.”

"No. He won't listen to you."

"I'll make him listen."

"He'll kill you! Especially when he finds out you don’t have a soul."

"Can take care of myself, Slayer."

"Yes, you're big and bad and I'm going, no more arguments."

Spike shook his head in frustration. Putting the car into gear, he peeled out, throwing an arc of gravel up behind them. A quarter mile later, he was reaching over the console and taking her hand, and she let him. His firm grip calmed her, and she took a deep breath. When she looked at him out of the corner of her eye, he was smiling.

“Love you too, Buffy.”

Buffy settled back in her seat, holding Spike's hand between her own. They passed a sign: _Los Angeles - 80 miles._


	5. Collateral Damage

They arrived at the Hyperion very late - or very early, depending on your perspective. She wasn't sure what hers was anymore. Apparently she'd been hanging out with vampires too long. It was way before sunrise, anyway. The faint glow of lamp light shone through the lobby windows, but the rest of the place was dark, and all the doors were locked. Spike couldn't feel anyone - i.e. 'your poncy ex' - moving around inside, he told her. So it was either sit in the car for a few hours, or wake everyone up in the middle of the night. Hmm, which choice would be less...totally awful?

"Not necessarily our only options, pet."

Spike rummaged around in the glove compartment of the car, and came up with a screwdriver and a paperclip. Before she could say, 'hey, that's breaking and entering,' he was kneeling in front of one of the side doors, brow furrowed in concentration, cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth.

Buffy leaned back against the building to enjoy the view - of Spike, that is, as the alley they were in was nothing to do cartwheels over.

"See, less than twenty-four hours and you're already doing something illegal," she teased.

She knew that she was always welcome at Angel's, although the circumstances - and Spike - were another story. A story to which she'd been imagining a variety of bloody and/or dusty endings ever since she'd climbed into that rust bucket of a vehicle. Still, when she weighed sitting in that dirty, cold car with sitting in the nice, warm lobby, even if it was Angel's lobby, picking one little lock didn't really seem like a big moral dilemma.

Spike shrugged indifferently, not even looking up. "Barely a misdemeanor."

She clucked her tongue, enjoying their banter. "It's a slippery slope, Spike."

His hands still worked the lock, but his gaze wandered over to her, then moved slowly up her body, lingering here and there, until he finally met her eyes.

"Thought you _liked_ me dangerous, pet."

Buffy felt a rush of blood to her face. She knew she'd learn to regret those words someday. His comment was part tease, part challenge - and, he was right, of course. Somewhere deep inside, there was a part of her that recognized that danger as something she had within herself, and was drawn to it. And the Big Bad Wolf leer he gave her now - like he wanted to eat her up, in more ways than one - sent a jolt of desire through her body, along with a vague uneasiness. It was a look she hadn't seen in awhile. Not since before the soul.

Before she had time to consider the implications of _that_ little realization, the leer turned into a grin of triumph, and with a small twist of his wrist, the last tumbler turned in the lock. Spike rose smoothly to his feet, plucking the cigarette from his lips and blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth.

"Angel should really upgrade his security. Pickin' these old locks is like stealing candy from a baby." He opened the door and held it for her, gesturing her through ahead of him with a wave of his hand. "After you, love."

Buffy shook her head, smiling at his gallant gesture . "You are just a mass of contradictions, you know that?" she whispered, as she stepped gingerly over the threshold.

"All a part of my charm, innit?"

Yes, it definitely was.

***

"Typically Angelus," Spike said, after they were inside. He meandered around the dimly lit lobby, occasionally picking something up and then setting it back down again before moving on to the next thing.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, you know. Big. Old. Somewhat ostentatious."

She had to smile at that, but he missed it, turning his back to her and continuing his inspection of the room, bouncing from item to item like a billiard ball gradually losing its speed. He finally came to rest leaning back against a counter, hands shoved into his coat pockets.

"Maybe we should have rung the bell, after all," Buffy said. Although she barely spoke above a whisper, her voice seemed to echo in the large room. Now that they were inside, it felt wrong, somehow. "If Angel is just sleeping, we can..."

"He's not here." Spike closed his eyes briefly, cocking his head to one side, nostrils flaring. Listening. Scenting. Those predator senses coming in handy once again. "Don't think he's been here for a few hours, at least. Couple of humans here," he said, nodding towards the stairs. "Up there. Asleep."

"Oh." She wished Angel would get here already, though she wasn't sure why she was in such a hurry. Because that was when the fun would begin. Right. There was no way this wouldn't go horribly wrong. She wrapped her arms around herself, and stared up at the ceiling.

"Knew I shoulda come alone," Spike said softly.

Buffy sighed. "Don't start. We've been through all that."

"Yeah. And you've made it bloody obvious that you don't want to be in the same room with both me and your ex. Why is that, Buffy?"

His face was half in shadows, so she couldn't really see his expression. But his tone told her he thought he already knew the answer to that question. Well, whaddya know. Jealousy was actually a blue eyed monster. Not that she could really blame him, considering the last time Spike had seen her with Angel, they'd been...in a compromising position. And that had only been a few days ago. A few days that seemed like a life time, to her at least. But not to him. She realized that, now.

His wandering tour of the lobby had put some distance between them, and she was more than halfway across the room from him. It was up to her to close the breach. As she approached him, his face came into full view. Mouth set hard, eyes wary. Her first instinct was to turn away. She was trying, here, why couldn't he? Instead, she went to him, sliding her hands inside his coat and around his waist.

He didn't respond, and again she fought the instinct to turn away. This wasn't fun for her, but she knew it was worse for him. Not just because of Angel, but everything else. The soul, the fact that he wanted it back - she didn't think he knew how much that meant to her.

"I'm here," she said, "with you. So stop trying to get rid of me. I am...as immovable as mountain. Yup, that‘s me. Immovable mountain Buffy."

His brow quirked in amusement. "You're a samurai?" His arms went around her, and he let his forehead rest against hers.

"Is that where that comes from? It's something Giles used to say when we trained. I'm also fast as wind and, um, a couple of other things."

"Silent as forest, ferocious as fire.“ One hand came up to caress her face. “Actually, that’s quite fitting,“ he said softly, fingers tracing the planes of her face. “And Samurai Buffy might come in handy, too. Startin' to get a bad feelin' about this, love."

"It's your decision. Do you want to leave?" She tried to make her voice as neutral as possible.

He stared into her eyes for a moment. "Do I want to tuck tail and run? No bloody way."

She lifted her face to kiss him. Eyes fluttering closed, she finally felt herself relax. It was one of those kisses you kind of sank into. It started off slow and sweet, but before she knew it she was gripping the lapels of his coat, trying to pull him closer.

"I'd say 'get a room,' but I'm kind of afraid you'd take me up on it. Being that this is a hotel and all."

Buffy whipped around - or tried to - she was kind of wrapped up inside Spike's coat.

"Angel!"

Angel had managed to walk into the middle of the room while they were otherwise occupied. Well, now Spike could get off her case at least; the two of them were even.

"Buffy." He nearly smiled. "You act surprised to see me. You did know that I lived here before you broke in, didn't you?"

She cleared her throat, disentangling herself from Spike and his coat. "Yes, of course. I mean, we didn't break in. Well, technically we did. But..." She looked to Spike for help, and saw from his self-satisfied smirk that that was probably a unrealistic expectation on her part. She wanted to smack him. "We had a good reason."

To anyone who didn't know him better, Angel would appear completely at ease with the situation. But she could tell from the steeliness of his gaze, from the stiff set of his shoulders, that he wasn't. Not even close.

"Had a bit of a problem with that shiny bauble, of yours," Spike said.

Angel frowned. "What kind of problem?"

"You heard I earned myself a soul, right? Well since this thing worked its mojo..." Spike pulled the amulet out of his pocket and held it up, letting it dangle from his fingers. "... I suddenly find myself without it." Spike smiled coldly, tossing the amulet up and catching it in his fist.

She could practically see the crack in Angel's cool veneer. "Your soul?" He turned an accusing eye on Buffy. "He lost his soul, and you're...?"

"As a matter of fact..." Spike began.

Buffy felt her face heating up again, but she would be damned if she let this turn into a pissing contest between the two of them.

"That doesn't matter," she said, cutting Spike off. "We're here about something a little more important than my dating history. We're here because wearing this amulet caused Spike to _lose his soul._ "

Angel sighed. "Okay, I get that. But you came here, why?"

Buffy looked over at Spike. If he wanted Angel's help, he was going to have to ask for it himself. She was happy to see that he'd finally lost the macho posturing he'd taken on ever since Angel had walked in. Spike opened up his hand and stared at the amulet for a moment before raising his head to meet Angel's gaze.

"This thing you gave Buffy, it took my soul. And we're here, mate," Spike said quietly, "because I want it back."

***

To his credit, it hadn't taken long for Angel to call in the cavalry. The two Spike had sensed sleeping earlier turned out to be a woman they called Fred and a bloke name of Gunn. Wesley, the ex-watcher he'd heard Buffy and the Scoobies speak of a time or two before, came 'round soon after. They were all sitting on the two bright red sofas in the lobby; he and Buffy on one, Angel's gang opposite them on the other. It was if they were sitting down to tea, rather than trying to suss out what happened to his bloody soul. Only Angel stood, lording over them with his back against the wall.

"Gee," Buffy said to him, under her breath, "I can't wait to see what Wesley Wyndam-Dork can do for us." She'd made it obvious from the first time Angel mentioned him that she didn't think much of the poor sod, but Angel seemed to respect the hell out of him. Interesting, that. Buffy seemed a bit taken aback after he arrived, though, all business and seeming very capable, to Spike at least.

"He's...different than I remembered him," Buffy said.

"People change, pet."

"Yeah." She smiled at him. "I guess they do."

After he and Buffy had given yet another explanation of what had happened on the Hellmouth to this Wes fellow, Wes had turned his attention to Angel and asked where he'd gotten the amulet.

Angel shifted uncomfortably. "From Lilah, the last time we were at Wolfram and Hart."

"Lilah?" Wesley raised an eyebrow. "Was this part of the deal?"

Angel shrugged. "Sort of a fringe benefit, I guess you'd call it."

"Wait a minute - Wolfram and Hart? I've heard of them," Buffy said.

Spike nodded. "Me too. Heard they're bad news."

"Just what kind of deal did you make with them?" Buffy asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Angel rubbed the back of his neck. "See, everyone always jumps to conclusions. But it's not like it sounds. We're being given controlling interest in a turnkey, state-of-the-art, multi-tasking operation..."

"What brochure did you get that line of BS from?" Buffy asked. Spike snorted out a laugh, and Angel glared at him.

"He means, we're going to be running the joint," Gunn interjected.

"But utilizing all of their resources for good, instead of evil!" Fred said brightly. Then she frowned uncertainly. "At least, that's the plan, right?"

Wesley smiled warmly at her. "That is indeed the plan."

Spike sat back and watched with amusement as Angel's little family leapt to his defense. He could really give a flying fuck about Angel's career aspirations; he'd always been too ambitious for his own good. But Buffy was more than a mite bothered, and that could only be a good thing for Spike.

Spike smiled at Angel over the top of Buffy's head. "I don't know, pet" he said, leaning in to put his lips close to her ear. "Sounds a tad fishy to me."

Angel smiled back coldly. "What are you saying, Spike? Once evil, always evil?"

Buffy held up her hand. "Could we just get back to what we came here for?" She looked pointedly at Angel. "And we'll discuss this deal thingy, later."

"Good idea," Wesley said. "The file you spoke of earlier - do either one of you have it? I think it might provide some clues."

Buffy paled. "It was on my dining room table."

"Which is now..." Wesley said.

"...under two tons of rubble," Spike finished. "And why am I just now hearin' about a file?"

Buffy turned big, apologetic eyes on him, and it was like she'd reached inside and squeezed his heart in her hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't think it was important." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Spike..."

"'S alright, love," he said. "Nothin' woulda kept me from wearin' it. 'Sides, it did work, right?" Buffy gave him a watery smile.

Wes cleared his throat. "Well, it seems like a trip to the Wolfram and Hart records room is in order, then."

Buffy stood up. "When can we go?"

"Right now, if you like."

Spike wasn't surprised that she wanted to go. Of course, she'd have to check out this whole Wolfram and Hart business on her own.

"Let's go, then," Spike said.

"You'd better not," Angel said to him. "Wolfram and Hart has vampire detectors installed, and they don't know who you are. We wouldn't want you to end up being swept up by housekeeping."

"I’m touched by your concern. But it's safe as houses here, right?" Spike shook his head.

Angel leaned toward him, lowering his voice confidentially. "Well, you'll be safe, but I don't know about anyone else. I mean, _you haven't got a soul._ No telling what you might do."

God, he was infuriating. Well, two could play. Spike gave him his friendliest smile. "The only one here who has anything to worry about is you."

Angel shrugged. "So you say. But I have to protect my people. And we do have that cage in the basement..."

Spike leapt to his feet. Just the idea of being locked up sent him into a panic. "If you think you're going to lock me up in a bloody cage, you've got another..." Angel pushed himself away from the wall.

Buffy stepped between them, her hand firm but somehow comforting against Spike's chest. "There will be no cage," she said to Angel. "And you have a _cage_?"

“Well...”

"We built it for the last time we had a soulless vampire to deal with," Gunn said.

Fred shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. "Yeah, Angelus. He was..." She stopped when she saw the expression on Angel's face. The why-did-I-open-my-big-stupid-mouth expression. "Oh. Sorry, Angel."

"Hey, don't look at us. You're the one who brought it up," Gunn said.

So, they'd all had a close encounter with Angelus. How interesting. Wesley said nothing, just looked lost in thought. And Buffy was definitely caught off guard.

"Well, I guess we've got lots to talk about," she said to Angel softly. She shook her head as if to clear it. "Okay, listen up you two. No cage." She turned to Spike. "No fighting. Behave. And if _either_ of you ends up dusty while I'm gone," she said, somehow turning her Slayer glare on both of them at the same time, "I will personally make sure that the other one joins him. Then you can spend all of eternity together, fighting over who's bigger and badder. Got it?"

Fred smiled. "Don't worry, Buffy. Charles and I will keep an eye on them and make sure there's no...dusty business. Won't we, Charles?"

Gunn sighed heavily. "Yeah, sure. Babysitting a couple of grown...vampires - just what I wanted to do today."


	6. Collateral Damage

The door had barely closed behind Buffy and Wes when Gunn was up and grabbing his coat. "So, Angel, you're not gonna kill this guy, right." He didn't even bother to phrase it as a question, and obviously didn't care what the answer was, in any case.

"Not any deader than he already is." And that joke _never_ got old.

"Okay, I'm outta here."

"Charles!" Fred rose from her seat, and Charlie turned back to her with an apologetic look.

"Sorry, Fred, I've got a meeting."

"A meeting?"

He grinned. "Some guys from Wolfram and Hart want me to 'do lunch.' Fancy restaurant, they're buyin.' Who am I to turn down free food? Besides, I'm not gonna sit around here babysitting two grown...vampires. This is your gig, Fred."

Fred’s shoulders sagged in defeat as she watched him leave.

"We'll be fine, Fred. You don't have to stick around either, if you have things to do," Angel said.

"Well, I kind of promised Buffy. And she is the Slayer. I think it might be a bad idea to disappoint her, you know?"

Spike and Angel exchanged a look. Did they ever.

"I mean, I know you two are vampires and there's probably nothing I could actually do if you wanted to hurt each other and that my promising to keep an eye on you is really pretty pointless, but I did promise Buffy, and a promise is a promise, that's what Mom always says."

Spike shook his head. The girl gave Willow's ramble a run for its money. It was kind of cute, though.

"Well, we argue a lot, but you don't have to worry about us dusting each other, not really. We've managed not to for at least a hundred years now." He gave Spike a pointed look. "Isn't that right, Spike?"

"True enough, though not for lack of tryin'. But you should stick around, Tex. I'd love to hear about your run in with ol' Angelus."

Her mouth formed a little 'oh' of surprise. "W...why?"

"Obvious, innit? How could I not be curious about Angel losing his soul when I'm so recently in the same proverbial boat?"

Plus, he was bored. Really bored. Should've gone with Buffy and Wes, after all, but now he was stuck here with the great brooding one and the ditzy scientist. The one who was now just a little bit scared of him. Guess he was bringing up bad memories, reminding her that there was once again a soulless vampire in the room. Her heartbeat ratcheted up a notch, and her breathing came faster. That shouldn't excite him anymore. Shouldn't make his stomach rumble and his mouth water in anticipation.

But it did.

When he'd been all souled up, all those sensations had been tampered down into something manageable, a side effect of guilt and responsibility. But now those roadblocks to his brain had been removed, and adrenaline coursed through his body, urging him to _do_ something. Spike leaned forward, arms resting on his knees, and smiled at Fred. She smiled back uncertainly.

"I mean, I've lost _my_ soul, and yet here I am, still a card carryin' member of the white hats. Not the case with your boss here, was it? So, what'd he do to you, pet? As I recall, torture was always his thing."

Angel pushed himself off the wall he'd been leaning against. "Spike, that's enough."

"I never cared for it much myself. Well, not usually. Took too long. Patience isn't my strong suit, I'm sorry to say. Angelus, on the other hand, had the patience of a...well, I guess saint would be the wrong choice of word."

"Spike!"

But Spike's head was too filled up with the sound of Fred's galloping heart to pay much attention to Angel's warning. Fear was an interesting thing in humans. They didn't realize it themselves, couldn't pick up on it like vamps could, but it was actually physical. Like sweat, but with a much sweeter perfume, seeping from their pores with its own glorious, intoxicating fragrance. He could hear it, smell it, and especially taste it. It enhanced the whole feeding experience, too. Gave him a high. Like heroin to a vampire, really. And he'd been off the stuff for way too long.

Fred tried to take a step backward, but her legs hit the sofa, nearly causing her to stumble. Then he could see her take a shuddering breath and steel herself. Wasn't going to give, this one. Wasn't going to show him how scared she was, even though he could tell well enough.

She crossed her arms over her chest and looked him directly in the eye. "I'm still here," she said. "That's all you need to know."

"Fred..." Angel began. He hesitated, obviously unsure of whether to go to her or not. Fred let him off the hook.

"It's okay, Angel. You two obviously have...things to talk about. But I'll be back later to check on y'all." They watched her disappear up the stairs.

"Spike, follow me!" Angel growled. He strode off in the direction of the kitchen, where Spike could hear him beating up on assorted cupboard doors and appliances.

Spike sighed. "Yes, your unpleasantness."

Well, now he'd done it. If he was going to be stuck here with only Angel for company for who knew how long, he supposed he'd better make an attempt to play nice, lest Angel get any more ideas about that cage in the basement.

"So, the yellow rose of Texas sports a few thorns, does she?" he said, as he entered the room. "I like that in a..."

Angel's fingers closed tightly around his throat, cutting of his words as he was pushed up and back against the wall. Spike's feet dangled several inches off the floor, and he clawed ineffectually at Angel's hand, trying to break his hold. It was no use - the fingers around his neck tightened, while Angel slammed his other hand against the wall, impossibly close to his face.

"Fred is off limits, do you hear me?" Angel's voice was measured and low. "She is one of the best women I’ve known, and if you _ever_ pull a stunt like that again, I don't care what Buffy says, I will kill you. Do you understand me?"

Spike could barely nod his head as his larynx was in serious danger of being crushed. Abruptly, Angel released him, and Spike fell inelegantly down to the floor.

"Bloody buggerin' hell!" he said, when he could speak again. He rubbed his throat, still feeling the imprint of Angel's fingers there. "Didn't hurt the bird! Just wanted to know how a slip of a thing like that escaped the mighty Angelus, is all."

"No, that's not all you were doing, Spike, and you know it. Your white hat is looking a little dingy." Angel had gone back to slamming drawers and doors, and now mugs of steaming blood and a bottle of Irish whiskey made their way to the kitchen table.

Spike felt a pang of regret. He hadn't _meant_ to scare her, not really. Well, it hadn't started out that way, at least.

"And if you're really that curious, they did a spell on the hotel, some kind of no-violence thing. I didn't hurt anyone. And then Willow came and restored my soul."

"Huh, she must've forgotten to mention that. Well, we were a bit busy with the world ending and all."

Spike turned a chair around and straddled it, taking a big swig of blood, which, though not human, was something much tastier than pig. Still, it could be better - he picked up the bottle and added a healthy dose of whiskey to his mug. Spike glanced at the label as he was unscrewing the top of the bottle. "Well, wouldja look at that! You broke out the good stuff for me. Angelus, I'm touched."

"Don't be," Angel said, taking the bottle from his hand. "All I have is good stuff." He sat down across from Spike and added a double shot to his own mug, taking a long, slow drink. "So. What's your game, Spike?" he asked, after he swallowed.

"No game, mate." Spike wrapped his hands around the mug, enjoying the warmth that spread into his fingers. "Got a soul, lost it, want it back. Know that must be hard for you of all people to understand..."

"Why?"

"Love the girl," Spike said. "Know that's probably also hard for you to believe..."

"No, that part, not so much. That's just the kind of idiotic thing you'd do for a woman." He took a big swig of his drink.

"Buffy's not makin' me, just so's you know. Was my idea, both to get it in the first place, and now to get it back."

"Then _why_? Why would you put yourself through that again?"

"'Cause I earned it. Fought for it. Was a part of me, and it was stolen away."

"You sure it's not because you don't trust yourself without it? I saw how much fun you were having terrorizing poor Fred. The demon craves that. And the demon's all you are, now."

Souled or not, Angel never lost the ability to piss him off like no other. "I'm not you, you pillock."

"And you never will be. Isn't that what this is really all about, Spike?"

Spike's hold on his mug tightened, and he could feel it begin to crack. With effort, he relaxed his grip. "Well, that's a good thing, the way I see it. When it comes to Buffy, I'd much rather be fucking her brains out than ripping her throat out. But I guess that's just me." He forced a grin and downed the rest of his drink.

Angel glowered at him over the top of his mug. "Gee, how romantic."

"And speaking of, how _did_ you lose your soul anyway? Was it the cute little scientist? Can see how much she means to you," Spike mused. "But no...I bet it was the ex-cheerleader. Cordelia, was it? Yeah, she's much more your type. 'Cept for the hair. Make her dye it blonde, did you?"

Angel gave him a warning glare. Apparently he'd hit a sore spot. "Shut the hell up, Spike. Really."

"Where is the lovely Cordelia, anyway?" he asked, looking around. "She seemed so devoted to you, last I was here."

"She's in a hospital. In a coma."

"She's...what?"

"And you really need to shut the hell up about her. Right now!"

Spike hadn't seen such a pained expression on Angel's face since his days of mooning over Buffy back in Sunnydale. Well damn, the old man really loved her. Spike picked up the bottle and re-filled Angel's mug.

"What happened?"

Angel shook his head. "Magical...thing. Doesn't matter. I tried...I didn't figure it out soon enough. I was too late. Too late for her, and too late for...just too late."

Spike knew the feeling, and felt a wellspring of unexpected and utterly annoying sympathy for the big lug. "But a coma's not dead, yeah? She might still recover. Faith! Wasn't she in a coma?"

Angel shook his head. "Yeah, but...it doesn't look good."

"Well, fuck. I'm...sorry."

Angel nodded, and stared morosely into his mug.

***

The silence was driving Buffy crazy. She didn't know where to look, or what to do. And this had to be the slowest elevator in the world. It was evil, that's what it was. An evil elevator where you were forced to avoid eye contact with others for humanly impossible amounts of time. She looked up at the numbers, waiting for each successive one to light up as they slowly crept toward their destination.

"Well, aren't you going to say something?" she finally asked.

Wes had been, of course, lost in thought. "Sorry?"

"Say something. Something about the inappropriateness of my liaison with a soulless vampire, and how I'm the Slayer and professional standards and you're shocked at my behavior yadda, yadda judgment cakes."

Wesley smiled at her. "A lot has happened since we last saw each other, Buffy. I guess Willow didn't mention the closet...situation to you."

"Closet? You were in a closet?"

"Uh, no. Not me. Someone else.” He waved a hand dismissively. “In any case, let's just say that nothing much shocks me these days. And I'm not your watcher, nor anyone else's." He looked up at the numbers himself now. "Thank God."

"Who are you and what have you done with Wesley?"

Wes laughed and pushed the button for their floor again. "Does this elevator seem to be moving particularly slowly to you?"

Buffy leaned back against the wall and watched him out of the corner of her eye. A lot has happened was apparently the correlation of way hotter. Who knew?

"I've been meaning to ask you since you arrived," he said, turning back toward her. "How did everyone else fare during the battle? I hope you didn't have many casualties."

"Anya was killed. She was Xander's girlfriend. Sort of."

Wes frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that. That must be very difficult for him, even if she was, well, sort of."

She nodded. "Yeah, it is. And we lost a few slayers before Spike's amulet went all glowy."

"Faith wasn't among them, was she?"

"No, she's fine."

He looked relieved. "And how are the two of you getting along these days?"

Buffy shrugged. "She's okay, for a wanted fugitive."

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Yes. Well. I broke her out of prison, so you can blame me for that."

Wow, Willow had really given her the Reader's Digest version of her time in LA. She had to start asking for the unedited version of the story.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. "Here we are. Finally." Wes strode out into the corridor, and she stood staring for a moment, wondering what all had happened to him over the years to change him so much. She'd probably never know. The doors nearly closed on her before she jumped through after him.

"Here we are, Buffy. The Wolfram and Hart Files and Records department. Hopefully I can gain access without using force this time."

Force? He'd used force to look at records? "I hope so too. Paper cuts can be so annoying."

"They do sting," he said, holding the office door open for her.

"Good morning!" chirped the woman behind the desk. "How may I help you?"

"We need to look at some records," Wesley said.

"Clearance number?"

"Oh." Wesley scratched his head. "I'm afraid I'm not _officially_ employed here, as of yet. But if you'll just check with..."

"I'm well aware of who you are, Mr. Pryce. But I'm afraid I can't give you access today. Our files are undergoing some routine maintenance. Please come back another time, and I'd be happy to help you." She beamed at him.

Wesley glanced at the file room, row after row of metal filing cabinets and neatly stacked document boxes. It was completely empty. "Maintenance. I see." He reached over the desk and punched the woman in the jaw. She slumped backward in her chair, unconscious.

"I guess you have changed," Buffy said, but Wesley was already heading for the file room. "Alrighty, then. So, where do we start?"

"Angel's file, I would think," he said, peering at the labels on the drawers.

Buffy looked, too. "Which one is it?"

"Oh, there are several of them."

"Several files?"

"Several cabinets."

"Oh." Several _cabinets._

"I expect we need the most recent." Wes went to the end of an aisle and opened a drawer.

"These aren't all...evil stuff, are they?" She gazed at cabinet after cabinet labeled with Angel's name.

"No, no, of course not. Though he did spend more time...well. Why don't you come down to this end and help me look?" He thumbed through several files. "If we knew what we were looking for, it would help. You don't happen to remember a name or title on the file, do you?"

"Magical soul stealing amulet thingy?"

He chuckled. "Would that be filed under 'M', do you think? Of course, there is the possibility that it's not here. Being that Lilah delivered it to Angel herself, she might have been able to bypass the usual record keeping."

Buffy opened a nearby drawer and began to pull out random files. "So, who is this Lilah person I keep hearing about?"

Wes sighed. "I'm afraid...it's complicated."

Buffy smiled. "It usually is." And she bet that Lilah was one of those things that had happened, too.

"Complicated, shomplicated. I'm just a simple gal at heart." Leaning casually up against a filing cabinet at the end of the aisle stood a woman in a power suit with a smirk to rival Spike's. Buffy was immediately on her guard.

"Lilah," Wesley said mildly. He pushed the drawer closed gently and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest and giving her a friendly smile. "Back from the dead again so soon?"

Her grin widened. "My cheeks were burning, and I _knew_ someone was talking about me. Or maybe that was just the fires of hell." Her smile never faltered. Neither did his.

"Did you say dead? What is she, a vampire?" Buffy asked.

"Why does everyone think that!" Lilah held up her hands in mock surrender. "Now don't go getting stake happy on me, Muffy. Not that it would hurt me, but this is a new blouse."

"It's Buffy. And I could just cut off your head." She smiled cheerfully and took a step toward Lilah.

"Been there, done that." Lilah tugged at the scarf around her neck. "Don't want to do it again. And retract the claws, sweetheart. I'm here to help you."

"Help us how?" Wesley asked.

Lilah held up a manila folder and waved it in the air. "I believe you've been looking for this? I always keep a copy."

Wesley took the file and began to thumb through it. “I’ll have to take this with me and examine it more thoroughly back at the hotel.”

“It’s all yours. You might want to keep it under wraps until you get out of here, though. And if anyone asks, you never saw me.” For the first time Buffy saw a chink in the woman's armor as she glanced nervously toward the front of the room, but the receptionist was still out cold.

“How could we see you? You’re dead,” Wes said softly.

“Wait, do you actually trust her, Wes? Why would she help us?”

Lilah's expression softened. “Everybody has an Achilles Heel," she said. "Tall, dark and damaged here is mine.” She and Wes shared a long look.

“Yes, I trust her on this,” he finally said.

“But you must have known what was going to happen to whoever wore the amulet!” Buffy said.

Lilah smiled. “Well, we didn’t think that your current squeeze was going to wear it, though. He surprised us.”

“Join the club. He surprises me all the time. Is there a way to get his soul back?”

She shrugged. “That was never the plan, but I’m sure Wesley and his great, big...brain can figure something out.”

“So your plan was to bring forth Angelus,” Wesley said. “For what purpose?”

“Oh, you flatterer! You give me too much credit. It wasn’t _my_ plan. I just work here. And it’s pretty simple, as plans go. We wanted him to do our evil bidding, of course.”

"And offering us control of Wolfram and Hart is...?"

"Plan B," Lilah said.

Buffy pulled a stake from behind her back and advanced on Lilah. “Are you sure this wouldn’t hurt? Let’s try it and see.”

Wesley put a hand on her arm. “Buffy wait.”

Lilah‘s eyes narrowed. “What did you think, Slayer, that something as powerful as that amulet came with no strings attached? It worked, didn’t it? You of all people should know that in every battle there are collateral damages. That’s the price of war.”

“But you tricked us! We had no idea what it was going to do.”

She shook her head in frustration. “You just have to learn to read the fine print. No one _ever_ reads the fine print.”

“We should go, Buffy,“ Wesley said quietly. He tucked the folder inside his jacket, nodded to Lilah, and headed for the door.

As Buffy started after him, she glanced at the file cabinets on the opposite side of the aisle. **Spike, aka William the Bloody** was typed on one of the labels in bold, black letters. The next one said the same thing.

After the fifth one, she averted her eyes.

“So, I’m guessing she was your girlfriend?” Buffy asked, when they were back on the elevator. “Before the whole actually dead part. Uh, hopefully. Hopefully before she was dead, I mean. Not that I'm judging! I'm the last person who should comment on dead significant others." God, awkward much, Buffy? Thankfully, he didn't seem to notice.

Wesley's voice was quiet. "Girlfriend? Uh...sort of.” He seemed sort of surprised at his answer.

But he obviously didn’t want to talk about it, which she totally got. Time to change the subject. “Hey, I was going to ask you this before Lilah showed up. When I was looking through that drawer, there was this really thick folder in Angel's file labeled ‘Connor.’ Who’s Connor?”

Wesley looked puzzled. “Connor? I have no idea.”


	7. Collateral Damage

"It's no wonder you didn't read the fine print," Wesley said. "It's in an ancient demon language that only a handful of people have the ability to translate. And without this - " he held up the magnifying glass he'd been using. "- it rather resembles a smudge."

Buffy peered over his shoulder. He was letting them off easy - it was small, but it wasn't exactly a smudge. If she'd just given it to Giles, he would have noticed. She shouldn't have let her anger at him get in the way. She should have gotten more information before she let Spike wear it. Instead she'd just accepted the amulet without question, because it came from Angel.

Who, for his part, didn't seem very concerned about what the fine print might say. He'd been holding up the wall ever since she and Wes had come back and told him that Wolfram and Hart's plan had been to unleash Angelus, and that offering control of their LA office to him was just another part of their strategy.

Angel's reaction to all this had been a complete shut down. Was he angry, frustrated, depressed? Mostly he just look bored, but she knew him well enough know that wasn't it. He'd just gone so deep within himself that she couldn't read him. She remembered the time she'd gotten that demon goo on her, and could hear people's thoughts. And Angel's, the one person whose thoughts she'd really _wanted_ to hear, had been closed to her. She couldn't tell what he was thinking now any more than she could then. And yet, even though he was silent, she noticed that they all kept stealing glances at him.

Spike stopped pacing long enough to lean across the desk Wes was sitting at, planting his hands on either side of the file. "So I'm guessin' you're one of the handful who can do that translation, am I right Einstein?"

Wes nodded. "I'll have to retrieve the Carax Compendium from the safe..."

Fred jumped up from her seat by the door. "I'll get it!"

She seemed a little on the flighty side to Buffy, but Wes had assured her during their excursion to Wolfram and Hart that Fred was a brilliant scientist. In fact, Buffy thought he might have a little crush on her. Could he fall for two more different people that Fred and Lilah? Wes smiled as Fred returned, carrying a large, ancient-looking book that was almost as big as she was.

"Good thing I've been eating my Wheaties," Fred said.

Spike stepped out of her way. "Good work, Mighty Mouse."

Fred said nothing, just dropped the book heavily on the desk in front of Wesley, raising a cloud of dust and causing them both to sneeze and wave their hands in front of their faces.

"Thank you, Fred. This shouldn't take long, it appears to be just a few sentences."

What harm could there be in a few sentences? Buffy walked around the desk and took a seat in one of the chairs, catching Spike's hand and giving it a tug.

"This room's too small to pace - you'll get dizzy," she said. "Or make me dizzy."

He sighed and sat down in the chair next to her, lacing his fingers through hers. She had to admit, she'd been a _little_ nervous, leaving him here while she went with Wes, but she was relieved to find everyone in one piece when they got back. And then a little ashamed for ever doubting him. She squeezed Spike's hand, and gave him a smile, enjoying the rough feel of his thumb as it slid back and forth across the palm of her hand.

"Hmm..." Wesley frowned.

Buffy leaned forward, trying to see what he'd written on his yellow legal pad. "Hmm, what? Hmm good or hmm bad?"

"Hmm, it's hard to say. It basically reads 'A soul for a soul.'"

"Basically?" Spike's hand gripped hers more tightly.

"Well, it also mentions something about transactions made in good faith, your typical contract language. But the gist of it is, 'A soul for a soul.' I would guess it means that your soul was taken in exchange for another."

"Well, if his soul was taken, that must be someone else's was...saved?" Fred said.

"Yes," Wesley agreed. "That would be my interpretation. But whose?"

"You don't know that there's a 'who.' Come on, admit it. We really don't know what the hell it means, do we?" Angel said, stepping into the center of the room. "I mean, these demon languages can be difficult to interpret, can't they? Look at the shanshu prophecy, for example. I'm going to live, I'm going to die...which one was it, Wes?" Angel smiled at him, as if they shared a private joke. But Buffy noticed that Wesley wasn't smiling.

"It's true, these things can be tricky. However, if you'd like a second opinion, I'm sure Buffy can get Rupert on the phone."

Angel shrugged. "She could, but I'm betting Giles doesn't carry a Carax Compendium in his back pocket. And I'm sure he's too busy with all those slayers he's watching over to leave them right now. Look Wes, let's say that it does say 'a soul for a soul?' I'm sure it does. We still don't really know what that _means_ , do we?"

Angel walked toward the door, clamping a hand down on Spike's shoulder as he passed. "Sorry, Spike, but I really don't see how this is going to help."

Spike shook off his hand. "Yeah, can see you're real sorry."

"Wes, maybe you can find some other way to get Spike's soul back? I'm going to leave you guys to the research, though - I have a...thing."

Angel's hand was nearly on the door knob when Wesley spoke again. "Angel? I meant to ask you this earlier. Who is Connor?" He said this like he might say "Care of a cup of tea?"

Angel's hand froze in mid-air, then he turned his head slowly toward Wesley. "What did you say?"

Wesley set his pen carefully down on top of the pad, where Buffy could see he'd written the name 'Connor' and underlined it. "Connor. Ring any bells? We saw the name in your file, but didn't have time to investigate. But you know, the more I think about it, the more familiar that name seems. It's like it's right _there_ , but I can't quite recall..."

Angel shook his head. "You must have read it wrong or something. I don't know anyone by that name."

"Connor," Fred mused. "Gee, that sounds kind of familiar to me, too." She tapped at her temple with her index finger. "Connor, Connor, Connor..."

Buffy could have sworn that Angel went a shade paler.

"It's no mistake, Angel," Buffy said. "I'm the one who saw it. There was a file on Darla, and right in front of it, one labeled Connor."

Angel's hand still hovered over the door knob, as if he'd forgotten it was there. Then he smiled, pulling his hand away and shoving it into his coat pocket. "Oh, I remember, now. Connor was the name of a guy I knew back in Ireland. Way back. A vampire. Darla and I traveled with him for awhile."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Funny. I don't remember either of you ever mentioning the bloke."

"He didn't stick around long. He was annoying, so I staked him. Any more questions, William?"

Spike just glared at him.

Wesley smiled. "Well. That explains it, then."

"Good. I'll let you all get back to your research." Angel hesitated for a moment, then nodded to Wes before opening the door and striding out of the room.

Spike slumped back in his chair, exhaling in frustration. At least she never had to guess how he was feeling. "Bastard's lying through his teeth."

"Of course he is." Wesley closed the book, careful not to raise another dust cloud. "The real question is, why?"

"Yeah," Fred said, perching on the corner of the desk. "Why wouldn't he want Spike to get his soul back? And who _is_ Connor? Argh! It's going to drive me crazy till I remember."

"I doubt it has anything to do with Spike, specifically," Wesley said. "His losing his soul was something no one anticipated. As to what's going on with Angel, I couldn't hazard a guess right now, other than it must have something to do with this Connor person."

"Well, if he is lying, he must have a good reason," Buffy said. He was probably doing that stupid protective thing he seemed to think he had the right to do.

Spike rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Cuz he's the big hero, right?"

"I agree with Buffy," Wesley said. "If Angel is hiding something from us, he must think it's important to do so."

"That mean you're going to stop looking?" Spike asked.

Wes glanced at Fred, then back to Spike. "Certainly not."

Well, enough of this sitting around and analyzing it. "I'm going to go and talk to him," Buffy said.

Spike's hand closed gently around her wrist as she stood. "Want me to go with?"

"Not this time. I think I'd better do this alone."

***

His back was to her, and Buffy watched him from some distance down the hall. He gripped the edge of the kitchen table, the fabric of his shirt stretched over tightly bunched muscles. He'd poured a glass of blood, but it sat untouched.

"Hey," she said softly. She'd deliberately approached him as quietly as she could, hoping to get a glimpse into how he was really feeling. Sneaking up on him, she supposed. He owed her a few of those. She could see from his posture how upset he was. There was definitely something going on with him, and she was sure that when they were alone, he would tell her. "Are you okay?"

He turned around slowly, his gaze searching the shadows behind her, and then returning to her. "Where's Spike?"

"I told him I wanted to talk to you alone."

"So he's free to wander around wherever he wants?"

Buffy sighed. This was already going well. "He's not going to hurt anyone."

Angel snorted in disgust. "I can't believe you actually think you can trust him."

"I do trust him. With my life. With Dawn's life, if that makes you feel any better."

"Not so much." He took a step towards her. "You think you know him, don't you? You forget that I know him a hundred times better than you ever will."

She shook her head. "Not anymore. He's changed."

He barked out a humorless laugh. "He's in love with you - that I buy. He's always been a sentimental fool. But that doesn't mean he's changed. He's just got a different star to steer by. I spent _decades_ with him, Buffy. I know what he's capable of." He leaned in closer. "Hell, I've taught him everything he knows."

A chill went through her at his words.

"Are you trying to scare me? Do you think I don't know the things he's done, that you both have done? Look, Angel, I know how hard this must be for you. On so many levels."

"Yeah, I can see how sensitive you are to my feelings, parading your new boyfriend around in front of me. And just a few days ago you weren't sure how you felt about him."

"I didn't mean to..."

"So just let me get this one thing straight, would you? With a soul, he's in your heart. Without one, he's in your _pants_?"

She reacted without thinking, her fist connecting solidly with his jaw, sending his head snapping back as he stumbled backward into the table. The glass rocked for a moment, then fell over. Blood spilled into a slowly widening crimson pool across the surface.

She was shaking with rage, and was about to turn and run until she caught a glimpse of his face just as he lifted his head. That's when she saw something unexpected flit across his features. Satisfaction? Relief? And then it dawned on her: he'd wanted to make her mad. So mad that she'd rush off in a huff, forgetting why she came in here in the first place. Oh, he was pissed about her and Spike, there wasn't any doubt about that, but that wasn't all this was about. He wouldn't have spoken to her so cruelly, otherwise. He'd been trying to distract her.

He'd been trying to get rid of her.

Buffy took a deep breath. "You're still not telling me something."

He closed his eyes briefly. "Why would I keep anything from you?"

"I don't know, but you are."

His expression softened, that melted chocolate gaze that used to leave her weak in the knees. And still did, if she were being honest. "If I was, Buffy, it would be because I had to. Please. Leave it alone." His eyes implored her, but she couldn't. She just couldn't.

She threw up her hands in frustration. "What is that supposed to mean? Angel, all this stuff with Wolfram and Hart. You know who they are, and yet you made some sort of deal with them for this amulet. And I don't know how you could agree to work for them! The Angel I know would never do something like that. I don't even know who you are anymore!"

His eyes narrowed, all the warmth that was there before, gone. "But you think you know who Spike is? The Buffy I know would never be with someone like him."

"Try to understand, Angel. He's been there for me. I've lost my home. I've lost so many people I care about. I almost lost Spike. That's when I realized how much he means to me. And..."

He cut her off. "Do you think you're the only one who's lost people they love, Buffy?"

"Of course not. I...I know, about Cordelia..." Wesley had told her that during their visit to from Wolfram and Hart, too. "I'm really sorry. Not that she and I were exactly close, but I'm sorry for _you_. And if there was anything I could do for you, I would. You know that. Angel..." But he'd already turned his back to her.

"I can't help you, Buffy. I just...can't."

How had he managed to turn this around so that she felt like she'd done something wrong? He stood there motionless, like a rock. An immovable force in the room. In her life. She wasn't going to get anything out of him. Filled with an incredible sadness, she turned away.

As she did, a drop of blood dripped off the table and splattered onto the floor.

***

Spike waited till she'd passed by before stepping out from behind the door. Not that he didn't appreciate Buffy's efforts, but he was bloody well tired of this whole charade, and it was time for him to take some action, not sit around waiting for his girl to do it. And after the way Angel had spoken to Buffy, Spike was so angry he could barely keep from launching himself at Angel, fangs bared. But that wasn't going to get him the information he needed.

When he walked into the kitchen, Angel was cleaning up the mess he'd made - best he could, anyway. Spike banged his fist on the table, but the bastard didn't even bother to look up.

"You got a lotta fuckin' nerve talkin' to her that way."

Angel kept his head bowed, concentrating on his task. "Always were the chivalrous one, weren't you, Spike?" he said. He kept on rubbing at the stain. "For all the good it ever did you. What do you want?"

"You bloody well know what I want."

"A soul? Sorry, don't have one to spare." He turned and threw the blood-soaked towel into the sink.

Spike laughed. "You're a right prize, you are. Askin' me what my game is when all you've done is play us. And not only Buffy and me, but your own people."

"You don't know what you're talking about," he said calmly. God, if he wasn't a cold bastard. Something Spike had always kind of admired.

Now it just brought his own rage closer to the surface in contrast. Spike gripped the back of a chair, fighting the urge to pick it up and throw it at him. And it was a good thing the kitchen table was between him and Angel, or he'd already have his hands around the bastard's throat. He spoke as cooly as he could. "Give it up, Angelus. We all know you're lyin'. And Wes and Fred? Smart ones, they are. They'll have it figured in no time."

Angel shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I would help you if I could, but I can't." He almost sounded sincere, and that just made Spike more angry.

"You mean, you _won't_."

"Semantics. The point is, this isn't my problem. You chose to wear the amulet. Buffy chose you instead of me. And now you want me to bail you out? It's not going to happen. You need to leave here before someone gets hurt."

Spike picked up the chair and banged it down hard on the tile floor, feeling it splinter in his hands. "You owe me! After everything you put me through over the years? Everything you put _her_ through? I fought for that fucking soul, and I want it back! And I know you know something that could help me. Now who the bloody hell are you protecting?"

Angel never flinched. Leaning over the table, he spoke quietly. "The only person who means anything to me anymore."

"Hey! What's going on in here? Don't make me call the Slayer on you boys." Fred smiled nervously and peeked her head inside the door. "I heard banging. And yelling. Everything okay, Angel?"

Angel straightened, smiling at her. "We're fine, Fred. Spike was just leaving."

"Oh, really?" She took a few steps into the room and pointed back over her shoulder. "Because Wes just left to get some more books from his apartment. And I think Spike will have to wait for Buffy, anyhow - she just went out for a walk. Said she needed some air."

And then she took one step closer.

Spike's arm shot out, hooking around Fred's waist and pulling her tight against him. His other hand went instantly to her throat. She screamed and struggled a bit at first, but as he closed his hand more tightly around her neck and grinned down at her with a mouth full of fangs, she stilled. Smart girl.

"You tell me who the bloody hell Connor is..." Spike said to Angel, "...or I'll break her pretty little neck."


	8. Collateral Damage

She listened to the sound of her shoes as they slapped against the concrete sidewalk, trying to concentrate on that and block everything else out. Tried to breath in rhythm with her steps, to calm herself down, get to that peaceful place, deep inside. It was working. A little.

He wasn't going to tell her. Angel's Sphinx-like qualities used to seem mysterious and alluring; now they were just confusing and aggravating.

And it hurt. Hurt to realize that she wasn't the most important thing in his life, anymore. That there was something else, or someone else, who Angel would put before her. It was so totally irrational on her part; she'd put Spike before him, after all. But she'd been positive that once she had Angel alone, he would tell her. Confide in her. It stung, that he'd turned her away like that.

And now what? What if they couldn't find a way to get Spike's soul back? Ever?

Her steps slowed and she came to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk. She barely noticed the people that brushed by her, grumbling. So, what if that happened?

Really, so what?

She'd gotten so caught up in this quest that she'd almost forgotten what she had said to him back at the motel, before she even knew he wanted his soul back. She loved him. She believed in him, soul or no soul. It had been a leap of faith, and nothing had happened since then to change her feelings. Buffy began to breath a little easier. They were going to be okay, she and Spike. Either way, they were together. Maybe Wesley would be able to help them. If not, they would go back and put Willow and Giles on the case. If that's what Spike wanted, that was. Finally taking notice of her surroundings, Buffy saw that she'd gone around the block, and was now back in front of the hotel. She walked into the lobby feeling like she'd just had the weight of a troll hammer lifted off her shoulders, and followed the voices she heard back to the kitchen. Angel and Spike, arguing again, of course. It was almost funny.

But as the kitchen came into view, she saw Spike in game face, his hands at Fred's throat, and her whole world fell apart.

***

_"You tell me who the bloody hell Connor is, or I'll break her pretty little neck."_

Spike knew, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, that he might have just made the biggest fucking mistake of his life. And given his history, that was really saying something.

Angel stood with his arms at his sides, hands twitching like a gunslinger's. "You're not going to hurt her," he said. "Buffy would never forgive you."

Well of course he wasn't going to hurt the bird. He'd just felt so bloody _desperate_ when he'd grabbed her. Angel standing there all smug and superior, still the same self-important prick he'd had to put up with for how long? And it never ended. Souled or not, in all their time together, Angel had never given Spike a single thing. Nothing came easy. He'd had to fight tooth and nail for every scrap. For Drusilla's affection. Hell, he'd killed a Slayer and barely gotten a tiny crumb of respect. And as for Buffy, Spike could still see her, only a few days ago, falling into Angel's arms. And now here Angel was, holding his very soul hostage. Well, bugger that.

At least, that's what he'd been thinking when he'd grabbed poor Fred. She trembled in his arms, heart pounding, blood rushing close to the surface. He was experiencing both an intense craving to kill, to feed, and dismay over his completely reckless stupidity. The combination was unsettling, and it made him a bit dizzy. Also, slightly nauseated. Well, that was a new one, but in for a penny and all that. He wasn't going to hurt her. Had more self-control than that. But he had to make Angel believe that he would.

"You'd be surprised what Buffy's forgiven me," Spike said with a grin. Angel took a step toward him, as if he was going to come at Spike over the table, and Spike tightened his hand around Fred's throat. Just a bit. She sucked in a panicked, wheezing breath.

"You'd better let her go," Angel said, palms flat on the surface of the table. His tone was almost friendly. Conversational. "Because if you hurt her? Think about it. You can't come back from that, Spike."

"No? Seem to remember that you went on quite the murderin’ spree when you lost your soul, and with not nearly the stressful circumstances you've put poor Spike under. And what happened with Buffy when you got your soul back? Remind me again, would you?" He leaned in, fangs a breath away from Fred's jugular.

"You know this is different, Spike." Spike could hear a tad more worry in his voice, though.

Spike slowly raised his head. "Is it? Least I'm tryin' to be good. She forgave you in barely a heartbeat. I remember you two making puppy eyes at each other. It was disgusting." Spike shrugged. "But the way I figure, soon as I get _my_ soul back, well, let's just say we'll be more than makin' eyes at each other. I'd elaborate, but there's a lady in the room."

He loosened his hold on Fred a little, and she took the opportunity to elbow him in the gut. Sharp little elbow she had, too.

"Let me go!"

She began to struggle, and Spike's hand went back around her neck. "Sure I will, petal. Soon as your boss here tells me what kind of scam he's tryin' to pull on 'ol Spike."

Angel slammed his hand down on the table. "I'm not trying to pull anything on you! I would help you if I could, I _swear,_ but there's nothing I can do."

"Yeah, you keep sayin' that. But everyone here knows you're hiding something. Even Fred, here."

"Dammit, Spike!" Angel grabbed the back of a chair and it splintered in his hands. He raised one of the wood fragments.

"Don't even think about it."

Spike tightened his hand around Fred's neck. He knew _just_ how much so she wouldn‘t pass out. No permanent damage. Wouldn't even leave a bruise. She was starting to panic though, face red, eyes wide, clawing at his hand. Spike was starting to panic, too, though hopefully his didn't show quite as much. Wasn't supposed to be going this way. Spike looked up at Angel, stared into his eyes, saw brown turn to gold. In the next moment, Angel was in the air, leaping across the table, arms spread wide, like a hawk sweeping down on his prey. Angel had called his bluff. The bastard.

Spike took one last look at Fred. Imagined snapping her slender neck. The satisfying crunch as the delicate bones crumbled in his hands. The exquisite taste of her blood as it poured down his throat. He pushed her away, crouching into a defensive position. But as Angel landed in front of him, they both were frozen in mid-lunge by the crack of a crossbow. An arrow whooshed between them, causing them both to jump back. It stuck into the far wall.

Gunn shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know what's more disturbing, here. You threatening her..." he said, pointing his weapon at Spike, "...or you letting him, Angel."

"Gunn..."

"He could have _killed_ her, boss."

"He was bluffing," Angel said. "I knew it all along. You always were a shitty poker player, Spike."

"And I bet you're a really good one." Buffy stepped in front of Gunn, placing her hand on the end of the crossbow and pushing it down toward the floor. "Let's not have any accidents, here," she said softly.

"Oh don't worry. If I dust your boyfriend, it won't be an accident."

How much had she seen, Spike wondered. She hadn't even looked at him yet. But now she raised her eyes to his, and he knew. She'd seen enough. Her anger he could take. He was used to that. But the disappointment... He'd hoped never to see that look on her face again. And now, he'd put it there.

"And I guess I couldn't blame you," she said to Gunn. "But nobody's getting dusty. I think we've already covered that. Fred, are you alright?"

Fred nodded. "I'm..." she croaked. She cleared her throat, massaging her neck gingerly while Buffy stared at the bright red necklace Spike's fingerprints made around her throat. Fuck. "I'm okay."

"Buffy..." Spike began.

She held up her hand, her eyes filling up with tears. "Just...I can't even talk to you right now." Well, that was probably for the best.

"You, on the other hand," she said, turning to Angel. "I think it's about time you did some sharing."

"Buffy, you don't understand."

"Then make me understand! Tell us all what's going on here, or...well, there is no or."

"Buffy..."

"I can tell you," Fred said, her voice still rough and raspy. "I can tell you who Connor is. Ever since I heard his name, I've been having these little flashes of memory. And while Spike had a hold of me, it all came back. Now I remember everything. And you had no right to lie to us, Angel. To take away our memories!"

Angel started to move towards her. "Fred, don't..."

One look from her made Angel stop short. Her eyes blazed, huge and dark in her pale face, her nostrils flaring in anger. "Connor," she said evenly, never taking her eyes off him, "is Angel's son."

***

Stunned was not the word. Hit with a tranquilizer dart meant for an elephant would be more accurate. Maybe a T-Rex. Angel had a son. A _son._ With Darla. A son who had been kidnapped to a hell dimension as a baby and returned as a teenager. And then there was the whole Jasmine thing with the eating people and Connor having to kill her. Buffy didn't even want to think about it. She knew what it was like to have to kill someone you loved, even if they'd turned into a monster. Her heart went out to this boy she'd never met.

Poor Gunn was still trying to catch up, too. She could practically see the memories returning to him; every once in awhile he would shake his head and utter a soft "Damn!" He and Fred sat across from Buffy, on the other sofa, leaving her sitting between the two vampires.

"Connor was going to kill Cordelia. And then himself. I didn't have a choice." Angel had eyes only for her, as if they were sitting alone in a room while he told her his story, instead of in the lobby, surrounded by the others. "I didn't have a choice, Buffy."

She was acutely aware of Spike's eyes on her, as well. She had barely been able to look at him, and had turned away from him when he sat down next to her on the sofa. She knew she'd have to face him eventually, but not now. She had to deal with Angel first. The lesser of two evils? It would be funny if it was just so...not. "Where is Connor now?" she asked Angel.

"He has a new life. A family. He's going to college." She could hear the pride in his voice, buried under the pain.

They'd been speaking in low, serious tones appropriate for a funeral, but the sharp click clack of high heels on the tile floor shattered the quiet.

"Well, isn't my face red, and not just because my office is so _hellishly_ hot. Seems our spell-casters have a little work to do on that whole 'memory suppression' thing. I guess they weren't buried quite deep enough, and once you persistent little gophers started digging..."

Angel stood up slowly. "What are you doing here, Lilah?"

"I'm just to here to give you all of your options, now that the vampire's out of the bag, so to speak. Or the super-powered hybrid son of two vampires, but that doesn't really have the same zing, does it?"

"There are no options," Angel said. "What's done is done."

"And what's done can be undone. Sometimes."

"We had a deal!"

"Deals are always full of loopholes. We evil lawyers make sure of it. Besides, you were supposed to come and work for us. Don't think _that's_ going to happen, now." She made air quotes with her fingers. "Trust issues."

"Why are you doing this?"

Lilah sighed. "Think about it. Team Angel and its Sunnydale contingent have foiled our evil plans. Entirely by accident and through your own stupidity, but that's beside the point. You know we don't give up that easy. What exactly do you think Plan C is? C is for Connor."

"You don't _touch_ my son!"

"Now wait just a minute." Spike, who'd been smart enough to keep his mouth shut up until this point, hopped over the back of the sofa, placing himself between Angel and Lilah. "I want to hear what the lady has to say," he said, leaning against the back of the sofa and crossing his arms over his chest.

"She's no lady," Angel growled. "She's an evil, animated corpse."

Lilah adjusted her scarf. "Takes one to know one."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Can you give me my soul back or not?"

Lilah smiled, looking him up and down approvingly. Suddenly, Buffy liked her even less, if that was possible. "I like a man who gets right to the point. Plus, there's the accent. But to answer your question, yes. We can return your soul. With some qualifications."

"Qualifications? What the bloody hell does that mean?"

"Well, technically, our contract was with Angel, so under normal circumstances a reversal would be his decision. And we all know what his answer would be."

Spike frowned. "Yeah..."

"Let me cut to the chase. Since it's your soul that became involved in this little - is fiasco too strong a word? Anyway, bottom line - your soul, your decision."

"No..." Angel stared at her in disbelief. Buffy reached over the sofa to put a hand on his arm, afraid he was going to charge at Lilah, but he just stood there, numbly.

"Of course, if that's your choice, Spike, then Connor's new life goes bye-bye."

Buffy's tightened her grip on Angel. "Can't you make an exception? Give Spike back his soul, and just let Connor be?"

"I wish I could. I really do. But there's a balance that must be maintained. You know that. It's just the way things work. Look at all the problems that little witch caused when she brought you back."

"Spike, please..." Angel said.

Spike gave Angel a cold look, his eyes traveling deliberately to Buffy's hands clutching Angel's arm.

"Shut the fuck up. She said it's my decision, and I'll bloody well make it myself."

But then his eyes softened as they sought out hers, looking for advice or support or forgiveness, she didn't know. But Buffy had nothing to give him. He held her gaze and she stared back, a jumble of emotions swimming inside her, but none of them surfacing. He gave her a sad, tired smile before turning back to Lilah.

"So. I say yes, and just like that, soul's back in?"

Lilah nodded. "Just like that. No tests, no torture, no finder's fee, even."

Spike stepped in front of Angel, whose face was a mask, void of emotion. He shoved his hand in his pockets and stood toe to toe with him, looking up into Angel's face.

"I can't _stand_ you. Know that, don't you? For years, you made my life hell. Decades, even. I remember it all, every incident, in vivid detail. Living bloody color. You know that, right?"

Buffy was paralyzed, caught in some emotional limbo between the two of them. She could only imagine their history together, and didn't want to, really. But she knew Spike was telling the truth. The cruelty he was showing, though - the way he was reveling in Angel's pain, now - it made her sick to her stomach.

"Spike, do you want me to beg?" Angel asked thickly. "Because I will..."

Spike grinned. "Now, that would be right enjoyable. But in the interests of time, no. Wouldn't change a thing. I owe you _nothing._ We clear on that?"

"Crystal," Angel whispered.

"Good," Spike said, taking a step back. "Just wanted you to know I'm not doin' this for you."

Angel reached back, his hand gripping hers. "What? Wait..."

Spike turned his back on him. Buffy watched Spike in profile; though his posture was casual, she saw a muscle twitch in his jaw.

"Appreciate the offer, Lilah, but my answer's no.“ His eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped dangerously low. "You leave the kid alone."


	9. Collateral Damage

It was over for them. Danger past. Crisis averted. For the moment, at least. On to the next thing, whatever that might be. She recognized the signs with an almost disturbing sense of nostalgia: the dark humor, the giddiness. She of all people understood, though. Even if hadn't quite been an apocalypse, it would have been the end of Angel's world.

So, over for them. But for her and Spike, it was just beginning. Right back to where they'd started from.

She couldn't drag her eyes from the spot where she'd last seen him. He'd flown up the stairs, almost literally, with the preternatural speed he normally utilized only during a fight. An ability that, even though she possessed it herself, never failed to give her a thrill to see in action. Fight or flight; the words rang in her head. In any case, once he'd assured Lilah that his decision was final, he couldn't get away from them fast enough.

She heard their conversations going on behind her as she made her way slowly toward the stairs.

"I guess she wasn't kidding when she said her vamp-toy was full of surprises," Lilah said with a melodramatic sigh. "But there goes my bonus."

She heard Angel telling Lilah to get the hell out. Gunn urging Fred to rest. Offering to make tea.

"Aren't you sweet! But your tea is kind of...terrible," she said.

"Where's Wesley when you need him?" Gunn answered.

"Buffy? Are you okay?" Only Angel had taken notice of her. It was understandable; she wasn't a part of their group. And she was too preoccupied with thoughts of Spike to talk to Angel, so she waved him off. She felt like she'd go crazy if she didn't seem him, talk to him, right *now*, yet at the same time she climbed the stairs with a growing sense of anxiety. The feeling only intensified as she made her way down the hallway, following that very specific prickling of her skin that always led her, like a beacon, to Spike. When she got to the last door on the left, she took a deep breath and turned the knob.

***

Spike stood in front of the window, imagining what was beyond the piece of fabric that separated him from certain, fiery death. The room was neat but dusty - it hadn't been used in a while - and the windows were covered with heavy velvet draperies. He imagined drawing them aside, letting the warmth, the heat, envelop him. He could sense the sun, bright and strong, just beyond them. He wasn't suicidal. Not really. Just so damn _tired_. But the sun had always held an irresistibly morbid appeal. His hand instinctively went to his chest; though the scar from the amulet was gone, he could still feel it. Inside. Could still feel the burn in that spot where his soul had fled his body, and left him behind.

The draperies were a rich red in color. The color of blood. His fingers slid down a length of the fabric, and he had a flash of Drusilla in one of those pretty frocks she fancied. The way he used to love the feel of them, the feel of her in them. He'd push her skirts up and her knickers down and have her up against the wall in one of those prim and proper, lace-trimmed velvet gowns. It had been an incredible, heady experience; all his senses filled with the taste, the scent, the feel of her. Cool and dark and intoxicating, his luscious, dark princess. He wondered where she was now. What she was doing. He imagined himself going back to a life with her.

"Slayer," he said, without turning around. So she was finally ready to talk to him, it seemed. Sooner than he expected, really. She pushed the door closed softly and stepped into the room.

"I think I'd prefer Buffy right now."

He turned to face her, and forced himself to meet her eyes. "S'pose that's a good sign."

And there she was, small and quiet, her emotions still carefully concealed from him, though he could feel the energy radiating from her. She seemed to hum with it, holding everything back as if she were afraid what she felt was too strong to let loose. Well, he deserved whatever he got. She just stared for a few moments, but he made himself hold her gaze, though he felt a bit like a bug under a microscope.

"You sure are big with the dramatic moments," she finally said. A ghost of a smile played at her lips, then disappeared. "Not that I didn't know that already."

He simply nodded, all of his words having abandoned him.

"I mean, first you try to kill an innocent person, then you save some teenager you've never even met before."

Spike bristled. Of course she'd read it that way; anyone would. And she'd never believe that he wouldn't have hurt Fred. But he was going to tell her the truth, anyway. He owed her that. And so much more.

He inhaled deeply, trying to remain calm. "Never intended to hurt her, Buffy." She raised a questioning brow. "I know, but it's the truth. I coulda killed her, and chose not to. Lost my soul, Buffy, not my mind. Was just tryin' to get Angel to admit..."

Buffy held up her hand. "Don't you get it? You *did* hurt her. So, you weren't planning on killing her. But it's okay to terrify her, to leave your fingerprints behind on her skin, to squeeze her throat so hard that she has trouble talking afterwards?"

He turned away from the window, his fist hitting the wall with such force that he smashed through the plaster, all the way to the wood struts beneath.

"No, it's not okay! A’course I get it! I fucked up! I made a mistake! Don't you think I _know_ that? I _promised_ you - promised myself! - that you could trust me, and then I went and buggered it all to hell."

They both stood silently for a moment, watching the dust settle.

"Okay," Buffy said, her voice unnaturally calm. "Okay. You were under a lot of pressure, and..."

"Don't. Don't make excuses." He wasn't sure why that bothered him so. "Because I wanted to."

He would have done anything to avoid that look of profound disappointment on her face, but the least he could do was tell her the truth. The whole truth. She deserved to know who he was, now. Who he really was.

"You wanted to?"

"A part of me wanted to kill her. Liked how it felt, to hurt her."

She closed her eyes briefly. "It's your instinct. We even taught the girls that. Even souled, you're still a vampire. It's your instinct to hunt, to kill..."

He shook his head. "There's a difference between instinct and taking pleasure in it, Buffy. Just about did me in when I found out what the First had been havin' me do, killin' all those people. Turning them. Didn't know any of 'em, but I ached for them, Buffy. I remember that I did."

"You...remember." She ran her hands through her hair. "But you didn't kill Fred! You stopped yourself. You can control it."

He nodded. "I can. And I will. Or try my damnedest. Is that good enough?" He was asking himself as much as he was asking her.

Buffy crawled across the bed to reach him, getting up on her knees and taking his injured hand in hers. Methodically she began to pick pieces of wood and plaster from his skin.

"Buffy..."

"Spike," she said, without looking up. "It has to be."

A year ago it would've been more than enough for him. He hadn't killed anyone in years - why wasn't that good enough for her? That's what he'd been thinking back then. And if she'd allowed it, they might've had a shot. That was before she'd known him with a soul, though. Before he'd known himself with one. They seemed to have reversed roles in an odd sort of way, and now she was trying to convince him that they could make it work. Or maybe convince herself.

"And what if it isn't?" he asked her softly. He pulled his hand out of hers and reached out to cup her face, and she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes.

"Why does everything have to be so hard all the time?" she whispered. "All the time."

"You don't deserve it," he said, brushing his other hand through her hair.

"Neither do you. This is not your fault."

Losing his soul might not have been. But everything that happened after was. She grasped his hands in hers and looked up at him, finally looking into his eyes. Seeing him. “I feel like I don't know anything any more," she said, tears streaming down her face. "Nothing makes sense to me. But I do love you. That's all I know.” And at that, he was all but decided. He folded his arms around her and kissed her softly before she pulled him down beside her on the bed.

He didn't intend for anything to happen, and neither did she. They just needed to get closer, feeling like they had to hold on tight before everything slipped away. But then she snuggled inside his coat, pulling up his shirt and stripping off her own. She sighed contentedly as they finally made skin to skin contact. They shed the rest of their clothes without speaking, and their lovemaking was slow and deliberate, quietly desperate. Her fingers worked the buttons of his jeans one at a time, her big, solemn eyes never leaving his face as she freed him, stroking him with those warm, strong hands of hers. When he pulled her on top of him, she threw her head back and rode him with abandon, giving herself over to sensation, golden hair cascading down her back, lips parted in ecstasy. He was on fire, and she shimmered around him, his own personal sun. And when she looked down at him, eyes full of love and desire, he took a picture of her in his mind's eye, filed it away. Would keep it forever.

Because every kiss, every touch, felt like a good-bye.

***

It was after sunset when he made his way downstairs. Angel sat alone in the dark, having a drink - that fine Irish whiskey he'd shared with Spike earlier. When Spike sat down next to him, Angel's nose crinkled in disgust. He must smell Buffy on him. Good. Still, after refilling his own glass, Angel handed Spike the bottle.

"Why'd you do it?" Angel asked, after Spike had taken a swig.

Spike shrugged. "Maybe I just came to my senses. Decided I didn't want the bloody soul back after all. Who needs all that sodding guilt and responsibility?"

Angel sipped his drink. and rested the cut crystal glass on his knee. "I know you better than that, Spike. You're like an annoying little terrier. You never let go of anything once you've decided you want it. Try again."

Spike sighed. He was too tired to bait Angel any longer, and the bloke actually seemed interested in a real conversation. "Don't like to be played, mate. You know that. Lilah and her bosses were playin' a little game, and I don't fancy bein' one of their pawns."

Angel crossed his arms over his chest and looked sideways at Spike. "That's it?"

Spike rolled his eyes. Angel was exasperating even when he was being civil. "Well, alright. The kid's family. And you do right by your family. Might hate the lot of 'em. They might be spectacularly screwed up and cause you nothing but grief," he said, giving Angel a pointed look. "But they're family all the same." He thought he detected a hint of a smile on Angel's lips. Hard to tell with him. "Plus, the kid never had a chance with you as his pop, now did he?" There, that ought to take care of that.

Angel downed the rest of his drink. "Probably not," he said, looking away.

Oh, Christ. "Now, wait. Don't go all maudlin on me. Wasn't all your fault, the way things turned out."

"I'm his father. It was my job to protect him."

Spike leaned over and poured another shot into Angel's glass. "And you have, mate. You have."

Angel took another sip, and the two of them sat in silence for a moment. "So, you're leaving?"

Huh. Bastard was more perceptive than he seemed. "How'd you know?"

He shrugged, setting his glass down on the coffee table in front of them. "You've got that look. You're even more restless than usual." Spike forced his legs to still, and then realized his fingers were still drumming against the bottle of whiskey. Angel sat back and spread his arms over the back of the sofa. “I’ve got Wesley working on other ways to get your soul back.”

"Yeah? I thought last time he had to call Red in to save the day. And there's no way I'm gettin' cursed like you, Grandad."

Angel ignored the jab. "We were in a hurry, then. Give him some time, and I’m sure he’ll come up with something."

Spike shook his head. "Can’t do it. Can’t sit around waiting for something that might not happen."

Angel sighed. "Still as impatient as ever. That’s going to get you killed one day. You realize that."

"Gotta die from something, and my options are limited," he said, and Angel chuckled. "So," Angel said, "does Buffy know?"

"Didn't exactly discuss it..." He waited for Angel's disapproval, but it didn't come. "Don't know how you did it. Leave," Spike said, inclining his head towards the stairs. Toward Buffy. "Can't hardly stand the thought of it."

Angel gave him a long, considering look. "Then why are you?" he asked softly.

"Because it's the only thing I can do."

"Yeah," Angel nodded. "I know."

***

She knew he was gone before she even opened her eyes. In all honesty, she’d known it a long time before that. The entire time they'd been making love he'd been on his way out the door. He'd covered her up with a blanket, but she was still as cold as ice. The room had felt warm earlier, filled with the heat of the setting sun and the friction of their bodies coming together. But now it seemed dead. Frigid and airless. She wondered how long she’d been there alone. She listened for movement in the hotel, or voices, but it was silent. She had a quick, panicked thought that perhaps she’d been there for years, long forgotten. Sitting up slowly, she saw that her clothes were neatly folded on the end of the bed, and a piece of paper, also neatly folded, was on top of them. She dressed quickly, stuffed the paper in her pocket, and left as quickly as she could.

Angel was standing in the lobby, looking out the door when she came down the stairs. Had Spike left just that moment, or had it been hours before? It really didn't matter; she wasn't going after him.

"So he's gone," she said.

"Said he had to see a demon about a girl." So, she'd been right about where he'd gone. Still, she felt relieved, somewhere underneath the heartache. Angel turned around slowly. "Are you alright?"

"Right as rain."

Angel smiled. "The last time you said that to me it was a lie, too."

“Yeah, I remember. Except you were the one who was leaving me that time.” She sat down on the sofa, and he crossed the room to join her. His arm was big and solid around her, and she breathed in his familiar, comforting scent as she buried her head in his shirt.

“He’s not leaving you. He just...can’t do anything half-way, that’s all. He's always been like that.”

Buffy craned her neck to look up at him. “Is that admiration I hear in your voice?”

Angel looked away. “Never.”

She stared up at his profile for a moment, before closing her eyes and tucking her head under his chin. "I guess you're right. If Spike can’t be the Big Bad, he figures he has to be the Big Hero," she grumbled.

"Well. It is kind of cool. The hero thing."

Buffy sighed. "Sometimes."

"We sure have caused you a lot of trouble, haven't we?" he asked her.

She nodded. "Stupid vampires. Should've staked you both a long time ago."

She could feel his lips in her hair. "You really should have."

"I don't know what I'm going to do, now. I don't even have a house or clothes or a toothbrush." Or the man she loved, but that would be overstating the obvious. She sniffled. She was getting snot all over his expensive shirt. He pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her.

"You'll figure it out," he said, sounding fully confident that she would. He'd always had such faith in her. "And I'm pretty sure I have an extra toothbrush."

Buffy managed a smile, sitting up and wiping her eyes with the handkerchief. "Thanks. At least I'll stay cavity-free."

Without warning, he suddenly sobered. "Buffy, I'm...sorry," he said. Angel was usually so inscrutable, but when she looked at him now, it was if she could see their entire history written on his face. And that was something she just couldn't deal with right now.

"Please don't feed the elephant in the middle of the room," she said. "It might just get bigger. And then stampede."

He covered her hand with his own large one. She felt so small. "Buffy..."

"Hey, if the Initiative had shoved a behavior modification chip in your brain, it all might have been different. Who knows?"

He gave her a rueful smile. "I'm pretty sure I would've staked myself."

She put her arms around him and squeezed, one of the few people in the world she could hug as hard as she wanted to without fear of breaking them. "Then I'm really glad they didn't."

***

She wanted to be angry with him. She really did. It would make things so much easier. But she'd never been able to control her feelings about Spike.

Angel had gone out on a call, and Buffy sat alone in the lobby, waiting for Giles and the rest of the gang to come and pick her up. The letter Spike wrote her was burning a hole in her pocket, and now seemed as good a time as any to read it. She took out the paper and unfolded it with trembling hands.

 

 

_Dear Buffy,_

I tried to write you a poem just now. Used to fancy writing poems, did I ever tell you that? Probably not. One of my deep, dark secrets. But I decided to spare you, as I completely suck at it. Poetry, that is. Besides, there aren't words to describe the way I feel about you.

I'm not leaving you. You have to know that. But a part of me is missing, Buffy. Never really knew that till I had it, and then had it taken away. And you know it, too. I can’t live like this, somewhere in-between, knowing what I used to be. I came here to find my soul, but it's still lost, so I have to move on, look for it elsewhere. And I have to do it alone this time. Can't explain why, really. It just is.

You're probably incredibly brassed off right about now. Thinking this is the cowardly way out, me leaving while you're still asleep. And you'd be right. I can face anything that any demon can throw at me, Buffy, but one look into your eyes, and I'd be lost. But please don't hate me. I know that me with a soul is still just...me. Nothing special. Vampires with souls are a dime a dozen these days, seems like.

Just know that I could never give you less than you deserve. I love you, Buffy.

Yours always,  
Spike

 

 

Buffy crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it across the room. Stupid, idiotic, exasperating, cowardly, brave, stupid, stupid Spike! Her eyes burned, and she pressed her palms against her tightly closed lids, forcing back the tears.

She heard the whoosh of hydraulic brakes, and looked up to see the large school bus, its bright yellow paint dulled by a coating of dust, pulling up under the street light in front of the hotel. Willow and Dawn hopped out, followed by Xander and Giles. They were coming to get her. To take her...someplace. Not home. Her home was gone, and now she'd have to make a new one. One for her and Dawn. And maybe some idiot vampire, if he ever decided to show up.

Swallowing back the lump in her throat, she walked across the lobby and picked up the paper, smoothing the wrinkles out and folding it up carefully before putting it back in her pocket. Her thoughts turned to Lilah, of all people, and what she'd said about collateral damage. This was the cost of war, and Spike had paid the price this time. And so had she. He was trying to salvage something out of it, though, and she was really proud of him for that.

The quiet of the lobby was interrupted by her friends spilling through the door. Their smiles were uncertain, and she saw them looking around for Spike. Buffy tried to put on her brave little toaster face, but it didn't work, at least not on Dawn.

"Let's save the questions for later," she said, putting her arm protectively around her sister. Buffy squeezed her gratefully, and Dawn leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Do you want to just go?"

"Yeah," Buffy said. "There's nothing here for me."

Willow started to say something, but Xander shushed her gently, and led her out the door. "Let's save it for later, Will. Like Dawnie said."

Giles held the door for them, and his sympathetic expression nearly made her lose it; she had to look away, out the lobby window. She could see the other slayers - strange to think of them that way - standing out on the sidewalk stretching their legs.

She wasn't one girl in all the world anymore. She was surrounded by people she loved, her sister and her friends. But she'd never felt more alone.

Dawn squeezed her a little tighter, and Buffy leaned her head against her sister's shoulder. Together, they walked out the door.


End file.
